Stairway to Heaven
by Dali2theLlamasquared
Summary: Total AU from the very beginning of the series. Sam has been marked by a demon since birth, but sometimes, heaven is just a little bit closer to home than people think. Full of crazy powers and plenty of h/c to go around for both of the boys. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey guys, this is my first Supernatural fic, so any guidance is well appreciated.**

Disclaimer: As much as I would like to own Sam, Dean, or even a car that runs…I own no such thing, and am making no money off of anyone, or anything, mentioned it this fic. Oh, well. The title is taken from a Led Zeppelin Song by the same name. P.S. The next chaps. will be longer, but this is just a short prologue.

Stairway to Heaven  
Prologue  


In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

He created all manner of living creatures, and in his eyes, it was good.

Lucifer, God's most treasured angel, no longer wanted to worship someone else, and so he took with him a whole host of angels, the Fallen, and made his way from the heavens.

And some of these Fallen laid with children of men.

And then, there were the Nephilim.

*~~*

Dean would admit that this royally sucked.

It was nearly 100° outside.

And a black car without AC?

Sam was officially shirtless beside him, mouth hanging slightly open as he leaned against the glass, sweat dripping from flattened brown locks and tracing his cheekbones, all while he snored softly. He was half tempted to prank his brother, stuck in rush hour traffic with some sort of accident as he was, but the kid had been pretty worn down lately, more exhausted than Dean liked to see him, so he figured he'd better let him go, especially since their dad was bound to run them ragged later.

One thing was for sure, as soon as Sammy broke the news about Stanford, they were all gonna be running laps. Not that Dean wanted him to go or anything…but the kid had earned it. And Sam had promised that he was coming back, that it was only temporary. A little independence would be good for the kid anyway, it was something that Dean could see that Sam needed, and Dean would never begrudge Sam anything that he needed. Ever.

Reaching over, Dean smoothed the damp curls away from his brother's face, his sweat mingling with Sam's own. Sam made a small noise, turning his face into the callused palm, and sighing, settling deeper into sleep. Dean smiled, and leaned back, ready for the long wait ahead, content to bask in the presence that was simply Sam.

Truth be told, if Dean had known that the next five hours were the last five hours he'd have with Sam for years, then he would have turned the car around and never went on to meet their father. If he would have known that his father would tell Sam to never come back…

Dean should have followed him, but he thought he could fix this.

Fix it.

Them.

He checked on the kid from time to time.

Peering in through locked doors and windows.

And Sam seemed happy enough.

If anyone deserved a shot at normal, it was Sam. And so Dean let him be, checking in on Sam, and then Sam and Jess, and staying well out of view, afraid that if he did go and see his brother, that he would be dragged back into that crazy world, their crazy world…

It didn't matter that it broke Dean's heart.

He would stay away.

Until one night, he couldn't anymore.

**A/N: Let me know what you think! Any and all flames will just be used to heat up the jar of hot fudge that is singing sweet songs to me from the fridge…**


	2. Wayward Son

**A/N: The title for chapter one is taken from a song by Kansas. Enjoy!**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter One: Wayward Son**

The headaches had been getting worse all week.

Even Jess in a nurse's outfit and the cold beer weren't doing anything to alleviate it. Beside him, someone was asking about the LSAT scores, and Jess was bragging for him. That was fine, because as Sam swayed on his stool, he was sure that he was either going to vomit, pass out, die, or some combination of the three, as another stabbing pain raced through his back and head.

It didn't help that he hadn't slept at all the past few weeks, dreams of his mother's and Jess' death all mixed into one. Between that, class, and these stupid headaches…Sam let his head fall forward, cradling it between his arms and the table. When he was younger and used to get these headaches, Dean would move all the blankets and pillows in the bathroom, and shut off all the lights, closing the two of them inside. He'd pull Sam close and gently rub his neck and back until the muscles stopped rebelling and his head would settle into a dull throb. In the morning John would find them curled together…

"Sam?" Jess' voice sent another sharp stab through his head, his gut twisting, and he couldn't help but wince. "Shit, Sam, why didn't you tell me you had a migraine coming on?"

_Because you were looking forward to going out all week?_ "It just kinda happened," he muttered, trying to bury his head further under his arms to protect it against the sound of pounding bass.

"Come on. Let's get out of here. Sorry, guys."

He felt Jess tug on his elbow and he stood, trying not to sway as he stumbled out of the bar. The cool air helped, and he took a deep breath, stopping to lean against the brick wall of the building for a minute before following Jess. "I'm sorry."

"There's no reason to be sorry." Jess sighed. "I just wish you'd tell me when you don't feel well."

"Really, it was all of a sudden…"

_Bright lights and a flash of wings…_

"Ahh…" He felt the pavement below his knees, his head, his back, it was all going to explode…

_Fire, sunlight…_

"Sam!"

_Jess, on the ceiling, blood dripping…_

"Sam!"

_Wind, so cool, soft, freedom…_

The concrete was hard, small pieces of gravel digging into his palms. But the pain in his head wasn't as blinding, and if he could just get the world to stop tilting. "Sam!" "M'okay," he muttered, swallowing back the bile in his throat and pushing the pain into the small box in his head where he could take it out and reexamine it at a later date--like never. "Honest." He pulled himself up, watching as the sky and ground righted themselves, and took a shaky breath. "Let's just go. I think I'll be better after I sleep."

"Are you sure?" Jess had her cell phone out, clearly just a second away from calling for help.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

The walk back to the apartment took far longer than it should have, and by the time Sam stumbled up the stairs, he couldn't do much more than shuck his jeans and collapse on top of the bed. Vaguely, he registered the sounds of Jess moving around and getting ready for the night, but he was exhausted, and it wasn't long before the sandman dragged him under.

Vague sounds registering in the back of his head were what brought him to awareness. Slipping his hand under the mattress, Sam reached for the knife that he'd hidden under there, just in case. Jess was still sleeping soundly, and Sam pushed the migraine into a hidden corner of his mind, hunter mode sliding into place as if he'd never been anything else. Carefully, Sam edged around the corner and out into the living area, registering a large black shadow bent slightly by the window.

Silently, Sam slid forward, reaching around the figure and wrapping the knife around it's neck…and then the smell of leather and gunpowder filled his senses, mingled with the fresh scent of Scope. "Dean?"

"Sammy," the word was almost a desperate plea, the sound of someone who found safe haven after a long storm…

"Dean," Sam pulled back, turning his brother around and dropping the knife on the convenient end table, pulling his brother close and wrapping his fingers in the jacket, suddenly feeling better than he had in years. "God, I've missed you."

"Sam," Dean's voice cracked, his face pressing into Sam's neck, hands fisting in Sam's t-shirt.

Instinctively, Sam could feel that something was wrong with his brother, and through his own pounding head, Sam knew that if he lost physical contact, one or both of them was going to break. He backed up, clutching Dean close and collapsing on the couch, pulling his older brother on top of him. Suddenly the pain wasn't so bad, not with his brother here, and for the first time in a long time, he thought he could rest.

Somehow, the two had managed to arrange themselves on the couch without losing contact, smashed against one another, knees, arms, hands, all touching. "Dean, what is it, what's wrong?"

In the pale streetlight he could make out the washed out face, prominent freckles, and dark circles under green eyes, circles that mirrored ones under his own. "I…I don't know, Sammy."

Dean leaned over, perfectly fitted against his brother, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath. Sam was about to say something, when he heard another noise and the light flicked on in the kitchen, framing Jessica. "Hey, Sam, is your migraine still…"

"Uh, Jess, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Jess."

"Hi," Dean gave a much smaller version of his usual 1000 watt smile, but Jess still smiled back anyway.

"Oh, hey. It's great to finally meet you, Sam talks about you all the time." She ran a hand through her hair, putting it back into place. "Sam, I'll go get some extra linens, why don't you set up the pullout couch. You two can have a sleep over and I can get some actual sleep before I leave for my parent's tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess," Sam smiled tightly, pulling Dean up so he could pull the cushions from the couch and release the bed. Dean reached over to help, somehow keeping his arm touching Sam's the entire time, even as they pulled the bed out. "Where's your duffel?"

"Car," Dean muttered.

"I'll get you a t-shirt to sleep in. I have an extra toothbrush and stuff, c'mon."

Sam tossed a shirt into the bathroom where he'd abandoned Dean. "Hey, this is my AC/DC shirt!" Dean appeared holding the shirt in one hand, with the toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

"Good thing you came back for it then."

Dean's eyes lit up and he disappeared again, the sound of loud gurgling following. Jess reappeared, standing on tiptoe, planting a gentle kiss on Sam's cheek. "Night, sweetie. Love you."

"Yeah, love you too." But Sam's attention was already on the man exiting the bathroom, Batman boxers and all. Jess just smiled, disappearing into their room, glad that Sam's brother had finally shown up, since she'd always been able to tell how much he'd missed him over the years. Maybe now Sam would be able to settle into some semblance of normal.

When she woke in the morning, Jess found the two of them tangled together on the pull out, the television droning in the background as light streamed through the blinds. Sam was on his stomach, half on top of Dean, arm thrown protectively around his older brother. In turn, Dean's arm seemed to be holding Sam in place, keeping anything from stealing his brother away. Jess knew that the two had grown up on the road, rarely apart, and she was glad to see them together, especially since that was the most relaxed she'd seen Sam in months. Quietly, she set out to finish packing her things and left Sam a note, letting him know that she'd gone to see her parents and would call him later, reminding him that she loved him and would see him on Monday after his interview.

She couldn't help but smile as she left the apartment, knowing that Sam was safe in the arms of his brother.

*~~*

The return to consciousness was slow, the pounding in his head increasing as the light from the window sliced through his eyes. He couldn't help the small moan that escaped his lips, pressing his head deeper into the pillow, only to realize that his pillow was harder than normal. An arm tightened around him, pulling him closer before smoothing down his back. Vaguely he registered that it was too strong, too broad, to be Jess' hand, and his breath hitched before he recognized the familiar scent beside him, and relaxed into the warm body, attempting to push the pain away so he could think.

He felt Dean ease out from under him, heard him moving around the room, and suddenly the light diminished, almost instantly easing some of the ache in his head. A minute later, his older brother was back, manhandling him so they were curled together, the broad palm splayed across his stomach tracing a lazy pattern as they both drifted off into sleep.

The next time Sam woke, it was to screaming. Distantly, he registered his own broken voice, could feel arms wrapped around him, rocking, soft, gentle, pleading words.

_Jess, pinned on the ceiling._

_Flames, feathers, blood, sunlight…_

_Wind, freedom…_

It was hard to breathe, he was gasping, a fish out of water, a bird out of the sky…

And then it was gone, the pain receding to a dull thudding, exhaustion leading him to collapse shakily against the brother that he would always trust to be there when he needed him. Eventually, he was able to recognize the soothing words, feel the callused hands, but it was hard to care about anything but the encroaching dark.

Apparently the third time was the charm, though this time, he was alone in the bed and there was a good amount of clattering coming from the kitchen.

Leaning against the door jamb, Sam watched his brother move through the kitchen like he'd lived there for years. Clearly, Dean had made himself right at home. Without anyone watching him, Dean had dropped his shields, and Sam could see that his brother was exhausted, physically and mentally, his shoulders drooping and his movements shaky. No one else would have noticed, but Sam did. Dean turned suddenly smiling softly, and his voice was low. "Hey, Sammy. How you feelin'?"

"Bout as good as you look I guess," Sam smiled back, letting Dean know that he knew that something was wrong.

"Well, in that case, you must be awesome!"

The joke was forced, the lines around Dean's eyes giving him away. And suddenly, Sam couldn't help himself, emo moment taking hold, he crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Dean, relaxing as soon as Dean's arms pulled him close. "Shh, Sammy, I'm right here now, I'm here…"

"Dean…" He pulled back, one hand fisting into the fabric of Dean's shirt, just like when he was little and unsure of a situation. "Why aren't you with Dad?"

That had been their agreement. That Dean would stay and watch after Dad--but Sam hadn't realized how much it would hurt him, them.

Dean's lips quirked and he spun away, reaching for a bowl, feeling Sam step in sync with him, fingers still fisted in the back of his t-shirt. "Let's just say I think I'll be lucky if Dad doesn't shoot me on sight the next time he sees me." Reaching for cereal and the milk, Dean was unsurprised to find Sam still attached to him, but didn't say anything.

"What happened?"

"Can we talk about it after I eat--m'kinda hungry."

Sam nodded quickly. "You, ah, wanna go out to eat?" He cleared his throat. "I don't have much in the apartment, 'cause I wasn't going to hang around this weekend…"

"Sure, Sam," Dean cut him off. "Why don't you go grab a shower, while I go get my duffel and stuff out of the car."

Stiffly, Sam unwound his fingers and scampered for the shower, and for a second, Dean flashed back to a skinny, eager to please, ten-year-old. Tears pricked at his eyes, knowledge that their lives were never going to be the same burning in his mind, and a desperate wish to turn back time, to when his biggest concern was looking after Sammy, filling him to overflowing. Swallowing hard, he scrounged up his keys, quickly heading for the Impala, not wanting to leave his brother alone, and not wanting to be alone, for one second longer than necessary.

He managed to store all the weapons and get back up with his duffel bag before Sam shut the water off for the shower, and Dean was thankful for that at least, dropping his duffel and wincing as his back muscles rippled and pain sliced through them, fading as quickly as it came. By the time Sam reappeared, he'd managed to school his features into a neutral expression, hiding any of the residual pain. Worry quickly replaced the empty expression when Sam half stumbled and leaned up against the door jamb, pain and exhaustion seeming to mar his features, in a sick reflection of Dean's own feelings.

"Hey, Sammy, take it easy kiddo," Dean stepped forward, reaching out a hand to help steady the taller man.

"Sorry, the migraine's back…"

"Okay, maybe we should stay here…"

"No, I'll be fine," his voice cracked as he stumbled towards the couch. "I just need a minute." He missed the couch on his first attempt and nearly fell to his knees, strong arms catching him instead.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean carefully pulled Sam into a standing position, adjusting him to take the weight that his little brother suddenly seemed unable to carry. "Take it easy."

"Shit…Dean…"

"C'mon, I'm gonna get you to the bathroom…no, relax, let me do the work…"

"M'okay," Sam protested weakly.

"I know, just let me do this." _Please, let me do this like Dad never did for me._

"'Kay." Sam let Dean press him down on the closed toilet seat, watched as he pulled down the blinds and ran back out, dragging in blankets and pillows, dumping them in the empty tub. Somehow, he managed to squeeze both of them in the homemade nest, even though logically, neither should have fit. In a tangle of limbs and blankets, Sam managed to drift off into sleep, catching up on four years of trying to sleep without his brother nearby. Dean dropped off not long after, happy that he was finally with the one part of his family that he loved and trusted unconditionally, growling stomach be damned.

They woke together this time, a cacophony of tangled limbs, blankets, and aching muscles, but still feeling much better than either had for a very long time. "You just can't keep your hands off of me," Sam muttered, and Dean elbowed him, both of them giggling like teenage girls.

"I'm officially starving, so you better move your rear."

Sam made a small pouty face before attempting to pull himself from the overcrowded tub, quickly losing his balance in the tangle of blankets and falling backwards, forcing the air from Dean's lungs with a hard, "Oomph!"

Dean shoved him and they both spilled out onto the tile, tears pouring from Sam's eyes as he laughed, feeling better than he had in years. "Shit!" his brother cursed, clutching at his aching ribs, and shoving Sam again. Sam just laughed harder, grabbing at the blankets and stumbling from the bathroom, causing Dean to fall and land flat on his rear-end when his foot got caught in the passing sheet. "SAM!" One hand cradled his ribs, the other rubbed at the offending sore tailbone, and he set about to slapping some sense in his brother, only to stop dead when he found the kid sitting on the edge of the bed and gasping as tears poured down his face.

"Sam, Sammy, you okay?"

Catching the panicked look on Dean's face, Sam dissolved into another fit of hysterical laughter, which only grew as frustration and amusement both played across his older brother's features when Dean realized that Sam was laughing.

"Very funny, hah, hah. Put on some clothes, you delinquent, so I can go get some grub."

Sam took a deep breath and held it, seemingly calming until it suddenly exploded from him again, causing him to fall backwards onto the bed when Dean whipped a t-shirt at his head. "Yeah, yeah, let's go Samantha!"

By the time the two were bundled into the Impala, Sam's hysterics had died down into sudden, small, giggling fits. Dean had quickly learned not to look at Sam, because that only seemed to further set him off. Luckily for him, by the time they reached the diner, Sam seemed to have composed himself, minus the stupid, idiotic grin that he was wearing. But Dean figured he could live with that.

He could also live with the large double cheeseburger and fries, topped with onion rings and barbeque sauce. Which he followed quickly with ice-cream covered pie and a giant milkshake. Sam smiled, joining in with his own milkshake, but opting out of the pie, and settling on a turkey club instead. Totally sated, Dean leaned back in his booth, cupping his coffee mug and poking absently at a stray piece of flakey crust with his fork.

"That was fantastic."

Sam pressed his hands against his own warm coffee cup, and couldn't help the grin that was still trying to plaster itself to his face.

"God, Dean."

"Nope, just Dean."

"Smart-ass."

"I'd just stick with Dean, bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam stuck his tongue out and grinned again, sipping at his black coffee in an attempt to hide his smile. "So, why are you here?"

"Don't I get to drop in on my little brother?"

"Yeah, you can, you just haven't before. And besides…" _I thought you were taking care of Dad._ "What could you have possibly done to make him that mad? I mean it isn't like you ran off to college or anything."

Dean snorted. "No. I think it's worse. And I have a suspicion that you're in the same exact boat that I am."

"Great," Sam sighed, draining his coffee in one go.

"Don't worry about it right now, Sammy. What I want to know is how you picked up that hot girl and thought you could keep her hidden from me…"

Sam grinned again and flicked a cherry tomato at his brother.

**A/N: Feel free to R/R. Any and all flames will be sent down the YED's way. Or possibly directed towards Lilith…**


	3. Broken Wings

**A/N: Thanks for the review guys. I think this story may take awhile to get going, but hopefully it'll pick up soon... The song title for chapter two is taken from Mr. Mister. Enjoy!**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Two: Broken Wings**

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with his brother and watching late night television was something that Sam knew would never grow old. It was enough to make him rethink asking Jess to marry him, because if it meant giving up his brother…

"So, law school, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed and shifted so his left side pressed more firmly against his brother.

"Well, that didn't sound too enthusiastic." Dean shifted so he could look at Sam and the electric blue glow of an infomercial lit one side of his face. "Sam?"

"I just…I mean. I love Jess. And she doesn't know anything about…you know. But…I've lived four years without you." Sam paused, swallowing hard. "I miss this, I miss talking to you, I even miss Dad. I miss Bobby, and Jim, and Caleb, and Joshua. I miss traveling and getting to see new things. Don't get me wrong, I like having a place to call home. I love knowing an area like the back of my hand. I love Jess, I like having real friends. I like being normal…but I'm not sure it's enough." Running a hand down his face, Sam took a minute before starting again. "I know we agreed it would be easier to just cut all ties…but I've been going crazy. I pick up the phone and think about trying to find you almost everyday, and it's been getting worse. And I've been getting these…I'm not sure what they are…"

"They comin' with the migraines?"

Sam nodded. "Honestly, Dean, it's been scaring the shit out of me."

Dean swallowed hard this time. "When we were kids, Mom would tuck us into bed at night. Well, you'd be out in your crib hours before I went to bed, but Mom would tuck me in, and every night before she turned off the light, she would tell me that angels were watching over me."

Sam knew better than to interrupt, could see how hard this was for his older brother, so instead he just leaned closer, offering solid support. Dean waited for what seemed like forever, before starting again.

"I always wondered why she was so sure…you know, after everything that happened…"

Sam could see the tears that threatened to fall, but Dean wouldn't let them, angrily brushing them away with a rough swipe of his hand.

"Sam, what do you know about Nephilim?"

"Uh…in the Bible, they were supposed to be the offspring of angels and the children of men…" Sam tried to evaluate whether or not he was on the right track. Unable to read Dean's expression, he continued. "Goliath, who was unnaturally tall, was thought to be one of the Nephilim…"

At this, Dean snorted. "Go on."

"There really isn't any mention of them past the early books in the Old Testament…"

Dean nodded. "I wouldn't expect you to know too much, there isn't really any lore or anything…"

"I took a couple religion courses, but there wasn't really anything that we hadn't learned by the time I was thirteen…"

Dean grinned. "Told you they couldn't teach ya anything, Sammy."

"Yeah, I know, Dean's always right."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Dean grinned, but just as suddenly, the smile was gone, seemingly leaving the pitch black room even darker. "About six months ago, I started getting really bad headaches and back pains," he said suddenly.

"Are you…"

"I'm fine, Sammy. Just listen to me, okay?"

"Okay, Dean."

Dean patted Sam on the knee, and continued. "I was having really weird dreams at night, things about flying. Dad was worried, thought that maybe something had gone wrong on the last hunt, since we had to perform some crazy ritual…" Running a hand through his hair, Dean seemed to contemplate the best way to continue. "Dad started researching like crazy, but it just kept getting worse. I was seeing fiery swords and the pain was so bad I could barely move. He finally called Bobby--it took a lot to get him to do it, since Bobby threatened to fill him with buckshot the next time he saw him…no Sam, it doesn't matter why. He called because at that point, he thought he had no choice. He was certain I was dying or worse. Bobby said he needed to do some research, call a few people, and he'd call back by the end of the day.

"Turned out that I wasn't dying. But for Dad, I think it was worse than dying." Dean cleared his throat, reaching for the beer that he'd left on the end table, taking a long sip. "I was laid up, I don't remember much, but this pain…and then I thought my back was tearing open, and I screamed…"

Dean's hand was trembling and he carefully placed the bottle back on the table, giving Sam a quick grin when his younger brother caught his hand. "In that moment, I would have rather died then keep feeling that…I passed out eventually. When I woke up, Dad was outside, on the phone with Bobby, and I was on my stomach, and there were…"

Dean stood suddenly, shucking his jacket and pulling off his tee, turning so his back faced Sam. Right beside each shoulder blade were large, lumpy mounds of flesh, scars almost. And then, suddenly, they were rippling and undulating, the motion reminded Sam of what he had been feeling so often recently, and two large black, feathered, wings erupted, the light from the television catching the glossy feathers.

Sam gasped, and reached out, gently touching the trembling wings, and then he turned Dean, forcefully, and pulled him into a tight hug. "Oh, Dean."

Those two words caused the dam that Dean had been holding back to break and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. He pressed his face into Sam's shoulder, letting the warm tears soak his brother's shirt, letting his brother take over, letting it all go, just for now. Because where Dad had screamed obscenities and exorcisms, Sam had whispered condolences and promises. Because where Dad had attempted to rip the wings out of his son's back, Sam had run a soothing hand through the feathers.

"Everything will be okay, Dean. Because we're together now."

"Sam…Mom was an angel, and we're, we're…"

"Shh…"

Sam stepped into the role of protector with ease, guiding Dean to the couch, using soft words and touches to calm and soothe, just as Dean had always done with him. He ignored the fact that what had happened to Dean was happening to him, filed away for later the fact that their mother was an angel, and their father had probably very nearly killed Dean--since that would be the only reason Dean would have left. He squashed the thought that there was probably some big catch to all of this, and instead just focused on calming his brother, on working the lines of agitation and exhaustion from his face, and soothing away any lingering pain with his touch.

"I don't know what to do, Sam." It was closest his brother had ever come to sobbing, to begging for help. "Oh, God, I don't know what to do…"

Sam pulled them back towards the couch, silently amazed, watching as Dean's wings easily folded in against his body as they tumbled down, even as his brother clutched the folds of his shirt to him, pulling himself as close as possible, allowing Sam to comfort him in ways he hadn't been comforted since their mother died. Sam didn't say anything, just smoothing a hand over wings and bare skin, letting Dean know that he was there, that everything was going to be okay.

Finally, Dean calmed, relaxing against his younger, and much taller, brother as his breathing evened and his tremors tapered off. "M'sorry," he started pushing himself off, but was surprised to find Sam tighten his grip.

"No. Just relax. We'll go to the library tomorrow after breakfast. We'll figure this thing out."

"Do I have to research," muttered Dean, and Sam let out a sharp laugh, reaching with one abnormally long arm to snag the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around both of them.

In minutes, Dean had dropped off to sleep, wings retracting under Sam's hand, leaving the rough scars that were the only tell-a-tale sign of where they had been. Sam followed soon after, pushing away thoughts of angels and flying, and giving into a deep, dark, nothingness.

Sam wasn't surprised that he woke first, despite the fact that it was Sunday and he definitely didn't have class. He was just glad that the campus library had Sunday hours, and he gently pulled himself out from under his snoring brother, slipping into the bedroom to retrieve clothes, and then the shower.

Dean was still out cold when he got out of the shower, so Sam headed for the kitchen, pulling out what was left of his pancake mix, and scrounging around in the cupboard until he managed to find a nearly empty bag of chocolate chips. The sound of sizzling pancake batter drew his brother like a bear to a picnic basket, and within seconds, Dean was in the doorjamb, rubbing absentmindedly at one eye.

"Gonna get a quick shower," he muttered, and was gone and back before the pancakes had finished turning golden brown, water still running from his hair and down his neck. "Mmm…pancakes!" He stuck his head in the fridge, pulling out a cold bottle of Aunt Jemima, and rattling around until he came out with half a stick of butter.

Sam smiled, and passed him a plate stacked high with the chocolate chip creations, causing Dean's megawatt grin to go off. Sam took a stack half the size of his brother's, turning off the skillet and joining him at the table.

"Deez aw gud." Dean's mouth nearly stuck together between the chocolate chips and syrup, and Sam had to look away to keep from losing his own breakfast.

"I'm glad."

Dean just smiled again, a piece of pancake falling from the corner of his mouth and onto the table. Taking a large gulp of the coffee that Sam had made, Dean cleared his throat. "No, seriously, Sam. These are really good. At least college has taught you how to cook, man. Way better than the last time you tried to make toast."

"Shut up, Dean." Though it was too late, the image of a burning motel room already on his mind. "It's not my fault that there wasn't a toaster."

Dean started laughing.

"Besides, you're the one that left the lighter out."

"Yeah, well," Dean winced. "You promised not to tell Dad."

"You promised not to tease me!"

Dean paused, clearly thinking. "Huh, I didn't, didn't I? I wasn't teasing, though. Just stating that your cooking has improved."

Sam groaned and swore to himself that he was definitely going to get him back by making him do lots of research later.

"Sam…"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam looked up from his pancakes and saw a look that he didn't like on his brother's face.

"Sam--I'm sorry about last night. Bawling, and all that."

"Don't be. I've always run to you when I've got a problem. And you can always come to me. We're brothers."

"Damn, Sammy. What did I say about chick-flick moments?"

Sam just grinned, glad that Dean had gotten the message.

*~~*

The library was nearly empty, as it should be on a Sunday morning, so Sam and Dean were able to snag a table in the far recesses rather easily. Sam went to see the librarian, spinning a tale of a religion essay on the differences between angels, the Fallen, and the Nephilim, and while Dean teased him about his supposedly brand new BFF, Sam followed the librarian around, accepting a large stack of books and promising to find her if he needed anything else.

Sam quickly divvied the stack up, making sure Dean's was larger than his, all in retribution for the cooking comment. Dean glared, but didn't say anything, just flipping randomly through the first book while tapping out some arrangement that Sam was sure had to be from Iron Maiden. It was followed quickly by Led Zeppelin, and then Dean was loudly humming AC/DC. Clearly, Dean knew how to torture Sam better than Sam knew how to torture Dean.

It only took twenty minutes for Dean to be granted a break by Sam, and his older brother flounced off, clearly pleased with himself. He was back fifteen minutes later to attempt to torture Sam, who handed him twenty bucks and asked him to go get him a coffee from Starbucks. That gave Sam a grand total of half-an-hour and a total bust.

As Dean started another guitar rift, Sam was scrabbling for another way to rid himself of his brother, when his cell phone began vibrating across the table. Snatching it up and glancing at the caller id, Sam grinned, and flipped it open.

"Hey, Jess."

He paused, smile dropping from his face as he cleared his throat. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Moore. I just looked at the caller id…Is everything alright?"

Dean jumped up as all the color faded from his brother's face, reaching out and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, keeping him from falling out of the chair. "Sam?"

"Last night…a fire, in her room…Oh, God." Sam sank back, one trembling hand reaching up to cover his brother's, the other barely keeping his grasp on the phone. "Of course I'll be there," he whispered hoarsely. "No, don't worry about me. I'll find a motel or something." Distantly, he could feel Dean's hand squeezing his shoulder, the other one rubbing soothingly over his neck. "No. I'll be fine," the words caught in his throat and he realized that he'd disconnected the call already, and was speaking into empty silence. A strong arm wrapped around the front of his shoulders as he nearly pitched forwards, and the hand splayed across his neck rubbed vigorously.

"Sammy, Sam…"

"Jess is dead…a fire…Dean…"

He was being held, he could feel Dean's arms, but at the same time, he couldn't. He heard a soft keening, distantly realized it must be him, that the scalding heat running down his face must be tears. And then there was movement. He was rocking, being rocked. There were words, an entire litany of words. He couldn't hear the words, but he could hear Dean's voice. He still had Dean. He still had Dean.

Eventually his head cleared, and he could still feel Dean, holding him vice like against his chest where they both leaned against the library wall. Dean was on the phone, his voice sharp and fast, a sure sign that he was worried.

"Where is he, Bobby?" There was a pause, and Sam pressed closer to his brother, letting his eyes close as he listened to the rhythm of Dean's heart and felt the rise and fall of his chest. "He won't pick up the damn phone! I know he doesn't want to see me…but…I don't have time to explain right now, Bobby, but I think the demon is going after Sam…his girlfriend died in a fire last night."

Sam's breath hitched, and he let out a choked sob.

"Hold on a sec, Bobby. Easy, kiddo. I've got you. I've got you. Shh…" Sam pressed his face into the crook of Dean's neck, inhaling the comforting smell that was all Dean, and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "That's it. Just relax. Yeah, Bobby, I'm still here. Umm…Jessica Moore I think…Yeah, I'm gonna take him back to the apartment…you don't have to do that, Bobby…next flight out? Call me when you land and I'll give you the address…would you call them? Thanks. No, I'll see you soon."

The phone snapped shut, and Dean slipped in in his pocket, pressing his nose into Sam's mop of hair. "Bobby's coming, Sammy. We're gonna take care of this, I promise."

"M'sorry, Dean…"

"No. I know you loved her, Sam. I could see it in your eyes. You're allowed to hurt, Sam. It's okay to be broken. As long as you let us help put you back together, okay, kiddo?"

Sam nodded tightly against Dean's neck.

"Good. C'mon, let's get you back to the apartment and into bed. Things will seem better after some sleep." _And a butt load of alcohol._

**A/N: Read, review, and let me know what you think. Suggestions, questions, comments, predictions, and crazy reviewers all welcomed. Flames will be used to make s'mores. **


	4. Holding Out For a Hero

**A/N: I wasn't going to post this tonight, but I had some very kind reviewers and thought that they deserved it. Hope you guys enjoy. So, welcome to chapter three, this chapter title is taken from a song by Bonnie Tyler.**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Three: Holding Out for a Hero**

When Dean came to check on Sam, he found that he wasn't sleeping like he was supposed to. He was sitting on the floor, an open cardboard box next to him, silent tears running down his face as he stared at a picture in an iron wrought frame. Dean slid down the wall next to him, glancing over his taller brother's shoulder to look at the picture. It was Jess, knees pulled up to her chest where she sat on the park bench, arms wrapped around her legs as she looked out over the pond which glowed orange in the setting sun. Clearly she hadn't known that the picture was being taken, a melancholy happiness was reflected her profile, and Dean knew in that instant what had drawn Sam to this young woman.

Sam started to lower the picture into the box, but Dean's hand shot out, snagging his wrist and drawing his brother's attention. The younger man glanced at him through watery eyes, and Dean swallowed hard. "Why don't we keep this one, kiddo."

Sam nodded tightly, placing it over to his side, and reaching for a neatly folded pile of clothes, dropping them right into the box. His hands were trembling now, and he reached for a jewelry box, anger piercing through him as the tremors caused him to miss it, not once, but twice, before Dean reached out to grasp both hands and pull him towards his older brother.

Sam fisted the shaking hands into Dean's shirt, hiding them from his sight, simultaneously burying his nose into the dip between his brother's neck and collar bone, drawing a tremulous breath. Dean's arms had slid around him, pulling him closer, soothing over tensed back muscles, and running through tangled curls. He didn't say anything now, there was nothing to say that would make this better. Both their lives were falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing left to hold onto during this freefall but each other, and hold on they would.

"I gotta finish packing," Sam muttered suddenly, but he didn't make an attempt to pull away. "Her parents are gonna want her stuff…"

Dean pressed a hand to the back of Sam's head, holding him in place. "It can wait, Sam."

"Okay, Dean," he whispered, closing his eyes and letting the tears slip down and soak his brother's shirt.

Dean's legs began to go numb not long after, and even though he felt sick to his stomach, and he knew Sam probably felt even worse, he also knew that the kid needed to eat. "C'mon, Sammy. Why don't you go get a shower, and then we're going to go find someplace to eat."

It was an order.

Sam could follow orders. It was about all he could do right now, so it was a good thing that Dean was there to give them.

Sam nodded and stood on shaky legs, moving to the half empty dresser and pulling out new jeans and a button down, before stumbling off to the shower. He reappeared ten minutes later, hair wet and dripping down the back of his collar, eyes dry and bloodshot, and paler than one of the Egyptian cotton sheets on his bed. But he wasn't crying anymore, and the tremors were barely noticeable, so Dean took this as an improvement. He guided Sam out to the Impala with a hand on the small of his back, making sure his brother was secure in the front seat before getting in himself, intent on driving aimlessly and blasting his music until he found some place half-way decent to eat. Sam seemed to catch onto his ploy mighty quick, and finally directed Dean to an out of the way café on the other side of town. Dean watched as Sam settled on a bowl of soup, and ended up deciding on the same, his own stomach not up to much more. Though Dean added two beers as an afterthought, ordering Sam to drink his, and following it with another one. "You trying to get me buzzed?"

"Maybe," Dean grinned, "How else am I gonna get you in bed with me?"

"Good luck getting me that drunk," muttered Sam, taking another long sip out of the bottle.

"C'mon Sammy, you couldn't hold liquor four years ago, I highly doubt you've changed that much." Dean's smirk widened. "What, you up to three beers now before you pass out?"

Sam flicked a piece of wet straw paper at him, but a smile still pulled at the corner of his mouth, which had been the entire point of Dean's irritating him anyway. In response, Dean picked up his own straw, rolling his own straw paper in his mouth before stuffing it down the straw. "Aww, Dean, don't…"

The taller man ducked as Dean blew and the passing waitress ended up with a large wad of white on her butt. Sam turned wide-eyed, looking from the unknowing waitress to Dean, who had paled considerably. "Oops…"

"Man…Dean…"

The waitress turned, and Dean's guilty face disappeared, though Sam's face turned flaming red as he ducked his head. "You boys doing okay?"

"We're doing great, uh, Carla." Dean flashed a quick grin. "But, Sammy, here, he was wondering, oomph." Sam's foot connected hard with his shin, and the next words came out slightly breathless, "If he could have another beer."

"Dean," Sam hissed, "You're gonna make me into a freakin' alcoholic!"

"Nah, your liver could use a little exercise anyway." Dean smiled when Sam snorted, glad to see that his brother was bruised and beaten, but not totally broken. His pocket began vibrating as the waitress walked away, and Dean pulled out his cell, flicking it open. "Yeah?"

He paused for a second, and then held up his finger to Sam, walking a little ways away, where he could still see his younger brother, but at the same time far enough away that he could listen to the conversation on the other end. "Hey Jim," Dean smiled softly at his brother who smiled back, and Dean's chest tightened at the lost look in the hazel eyes. "He's better than I expected…but he's hurtin' real bad. You don't have to…Joshua, and Caleb? No, I think it'll be good for the kid. He's missed everyone…look, Bobby's on his way here now, but he can't get a hold of my dad either…yeah, I was just hoping…Sam could really use him right now…I left at least a dozen messages…Nah, it doesn't matter, Jim. We'll be okay. Good, I'll see you in a couple of days then. Thanks."

Sam's eyes trailed him as he made his way back to the table, snatching up his beer as he sat down. "That was Pastor Jim. Joshua and Caleb are on their way to his place tonight, and they're heading our way tomorrow. Found a flight out early tomorrow."

"They didn't have to do that," he muttered, flushing again.

"I told them that, Sammy. They want to." The waitress chose that instant to return with the third beer and two bowls of soup. "Thanks." He paused, tasting the soup and making sure Sam did the same before continuing. "I asked Jim, but he hasn't heard from Dad either…"

"It's okay." Sam stirred absently at his soup before taking another bite.

"No, it isn't, Sam." Dean nearly growled, stabbing mercilessly at his soup. "He doesn't just get to walk out. He was wrong about telling you not to come back, and he was wrong to leave when you, and I, both need him."

"Dean, it's okay. Really. I stopped being mad at Dad a long time ago. And right now…I hurt too bad to be mad at him again." Sam took another bite and pushed the bowl away. "Can we go?"

Dean looked at his own unfinished bowl and nodded. "Yeah, kiddo. Let's get out of here."

The ride back to the apartment was quiet, the only sound that of Blue Oyster Cult, and even that Dean turned off before they were halfway back. Within five minutes Sam had settled himself in at the kitchen table, surrounded by a large stack of books, his laptop, and an empty notebook, coupled with a large mug of coffee. Dean never understood how he could look at three books and five web pages at once, and since he had no desire to get involved in the research that Sam was clearly using to distract himself, he told Sam that he was running out and would be back soon, and to call if he needed anything.

When he returned forty-five minutes later, Sam was still in the same position, half-empty mug now ice cold, and two new books added into the mix. Bobby had called while he was out, and could show up at any time, but he didn't tell Sam, instead just pulling out three different containers of Ben and Jerry's as well as a stack of movies, plopping them right on top of the large tome that Sam was attempting to decipher. Sam glanced up, about to protest, when there was an insistent knock on the door, and they both stood, each grabbing a weapon, and headed towards the door.

Dean flung it open and immediately grinned, pulling the older hunter into a hug, and slapping him hard on the back. "Bobby! Just in time for movies and ice cream!"

"Gee, if I had known I was headed for a slumber party, I would have brought my nail polish." He stepped back, inspecting Dean, and apparently satisfied, turned to Sam, pulling the tall young man into a tight hug. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said quietly, holding on a little tighter than normal. "It's good to see you."

"You too, kid. You too." He pulled back, clearing his throat, and trying to ignore how awful both boys looked. "So, I heard something about ice cream?"

"And movies!" Dean shouted over his shoulder, sliding into the kitchen and snatching up the ice cream and DVDs. "All the Poltergeists and the Exorcist!"

"Oh, goody," muttered Sam.

"Pull out the couch, Sammy!"

Sam sighed, but did as he was told, pulling out the couch to reveal the bed, and Bobby followed him to the hall closet, returning with an armful of blankets as Sam hauled the pillows. Dean handed everyone a pint and spoon, dashing to put in the first movie.

They ended up pressing Sam between them, Dean flush up against his younger brother, and Bobby giving him some room, but not much. Sam wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position, especially since his back was starting to ache and his head twinge, but nothing seemed to help, and Dean ended up snapping at him for shaking the bed.

"Yeah, Sam, Dean can't cuddle you if you keep movin' around."

"Men don't cuddle, Bobby. They bond."

"Like superglue, apparently," Bobby muttered, winking at Sam.

"Sorry, my back hurts," he mumbled, sinking down into Dean's side and tossing his empty pint container to the floor.

Dean winced knowingly. "It's probably gonna get worse before it gets better, Sammy."

"I know," he sighed. "They've been getting worse all week."

That wasn't good. Dean knew from personal experience that Sam was close to doing whatever the heck Dean had done before him. This was the last thing that Sam needed to be dealing with right now, especially since the stupid demon was likely out to get them. And then, to be dealing with Jess' death…

"Shit, Dean," Sam gasped, pressing himself further into Dean, turning on his side so he could bury his head under Dean's arm.

"Holy…" muttered Bobby, reaching out a hand to touch the muscles that he could see moving in Sam's back.

Sam whimpered slightly, reaching out hands to fist into Dean's shirt. "Just relax, kiddo. Don't fight it, it'll just make it worse. I don't think it's gonna happen so soon, but it's definitely coming." Dean rubbed a soothing hand through Sam's hair, causing his brother to relax minutely. "That's it Sam, just relax…"

"'Kay, Dean." Orders were good. He could follow orders. Now all he needed was his Dad, because he was really good at giving orders…His head suddenly felt like it was exploding and…

_Jess was pinned to the ceiling, a red stain blossoming across her stomach in a sick parody of a smile. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain, and then the flames erupted from behind her, swallowing her whole and quickly encompassing the room…_

_His mother was staring down at him…_

_Soft feathers surrounded him, and in his hand he held a fiery sword…_

_The wind rushed through his hair, around his body, holding him safe, guiding him to freedom…_

_Jess was screaming._

_He was screaming._

_His dad was screaming…_

"Sammy! Sam! C'mon, you bitch, say something!"

"Jerk," he murmured, trying to clear his head, and moaning as jackhammers took off instead.

"Dean?"

"I don't know, Bobby…"

Sam dashed up suddenly, ignoring how the world was horizontal and spinning, instead lurching down the hallway by rote memory, and collapsing on hands and knees as he paid homage to the porcelain god. Someone was holding him up, because otherwise he'd be drowning in a pool of his own vomit, and someone else was running something cool and wet over his face and neck. He wanted to thank them, say something, anything, but the only thing he seemed capable of doing was expelling ice cream, soup, and beer, a combination he never wanted to taste again in his life…

Eventually he was left dry heaving, trying to catch his breath, but with nothing left to be expelled. He was pulled backwards, and soothing circles were being rubbed over his chest, helping him to calm his breathing as he tried to match it to the deep breaths he could feel against his cheek where it rested against someone's chest. There were voices, but he couldn't be bothered to listen, instead content to just lay back and let the pain seep from his bones, leaving behind aches and pains, that hurt, but were bearable, making him into an exhausted mound of flesh, unable to lift his own head if he wanted to.

"Hey, Sammy," a callused palm ran over his forehead, and Sam's head lolled towards it, eyelids peeling back. Bobby's visage wavered, and Sam closed his eyes, willing his stomach to stop rolling. "Why don't your idjit brother and I get you back into bed, I think you'll be more comfortable there than on the bathroom floor."

"M'good," Sam mumbled.

Someone snorted behind him, causing his head to bounce.

"Stop movin', Deanie," he whined.

A deep chuckle caused him to bounce more, and he latched his hands into the vibrating fabric to keep himself from falling. Suddenly, he was being hauled upright, but just as quickly, he began falling, stopping somewhere between the sky and the ground, and then floating forward, eventually landing on something soft and being wrapped in something warm, where he could just drift…

Minutes, hours, or days later, Sam surfaced, where he found a pair of bright green eyes staring at him, the lightly freckled face pulled into a smile. "Hey, buddy, it's good to have you back."

"Hey, Dean." Sam swallowed hard, trying to work past swollen tongue and sore throat. "What happened?"

"Nothing much, you blacked out. But don't worry, while you were out, Bobby and I managed to pack up most of your stuff."

"Pack…"

"Yeah, Bobby's already got some guys lined up to move it to his place…"

"Oh. What time is it?" Sam sat up, rubbing at his eyes to clear the grit.

"Nearly noon."

"Crap. I need to call and cancel my interview!"

"What interview?"

"I had an interview for a full ride to law school in the fall…"

"Can you reschedule?" Dean was already figuring out how soon Sam would be ready for an interview…

"I don't want to."

"What?"

"Law school…it was for when I was with Jess."

"And now," Dean asked softly.

"I have a demon to kill. Wings to sprout, literally. And who knows what else. That is, if the passenger seat in the Impala is still open?"

"Always," Dean smiled, offering a hand to help Sam up from the fold out. "I'll call, you go get a shower. We were gonna hit the road in a couple of hours anyway."

"Thanks, Dean."

"You'd do the same for me, Sam. Now go take a shower, you smell like stale beer and vomit."

"Gee, thanks," Sam muttered, still grinning as he stumbled off to the bathroom.

"Not a problem!" Dean hollered after him, whistling to himself as he disappeared and went to go find both Bobby and his missing duffel.

By the time Sam had finished his shower, they had most of their stuff packed into Bobby's rental. Forty-five minutes later, the Impala was squealing its way from the curb, Bobby not far behind.

As the street shrank in the mirror, Sam vaguely wondered if this was what if felt like to be drowning, a suffocating weight on his chest and no energy to stop the listlessness from taking over before he was swept up and dragged away. A hand on his knee startled him, forcing him to take a deep breath, and for a second, he is sure that everything will be okay…_'Cause Dean is always there to pull me out. _

**A/N: Howdy doody--let me know what you think! Flames will be used to boil water, with which I will make hot chocolate!!**


	5. Damned Don't Cry

**A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews. Special thanks go to SaintsGhost, cuddygirl18, psicat76, and StarMage1 for their regular reviews and support. Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! You guys are keeping me going! This chapter title is taken from Visage. Hope you all enjoy.**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Four: Damned Don't Cry**

Sam wanted to cry.

He did.

But somewhere between Palo Alto and the shady gravesite, his tears had dried up.

He could feel them, all blocked up in his head, pushing and pounding his already sore skull. Vaguely, he wondered if everyone could see his head throbbing, or if it was just Dean, who had edged as close as he could, without touching, to Sam. He figured that someone else had to hear that pulsating noise, the one that kept blocking out the priest's words…

"There is a time for everything…"

_And not enough time for everyone,_ Sam thought vaguely, tuning out as the voice continued droning on about life and death, happiness and sadness, good, bad…

He could see her parents.

Her mother, sobbing into her husband's arms. Apparently his tears had dried up too.

Sam could remember knocking on their door, flashing back to the first time he'd done so, with Jess at his side…

"_Don't worry, Sam they'll love you."_

"_Yeah, but what if they don't…" _

He couldn't step off the porch, couldn't move inside the house, the house with the charred and blackened corner. Somehow, he'd managed to pass the box full of Jess' things to her father, who'd answered the door, with a mumbled, "She'd want you to have this…"

They'd invited him in, but he couldn't. Couldn't get past the threshold.

And he thought they understood.

But he couldn't bring himself to care if they didn't.

In fact, his whole world was unraveling at the seams, and he just didn't give a damn anymore.

How much worse could it get? His girlfriend was dead. His dad was AWOL, not that they'd been talking anyway. His mother was, apparently, some sort of supernatural creature, and now he was going to be sprouting feathers. Which was accompanied by his head feeling like it was going to explode and his back attempting to split down the middle. Oh, and if it wasn't bad enough that there was some freakin' demon out there that was apparently, now, trying to kill him, they'd have to avoid overzealous hunters who shot anything that sparkled too brightly.

Sam had stopped laughing days ago, sometime after they left behind the empty apartment. And he knew that Dean was worried about him, but it was too hard to care. It was sunny today, Jess liked when it was sunny, but it shouldn't be now, because Jess was dead and there shouldn't be anymore sun…

Sam couldn't get angry, though.

He'd tried.

But he was suffocating.

Drowning.

Dean was trying to pull him up, the jokes coming more readily, more forced than they should be. But Dean was slipping too.

Because Dean had come to Sam, looking for help. This time he'd been the brother in trouble, and he needed Sam to pull him up…

Now they were both falling.

_If only we could fly…_

Sam nearly giggled at his own analogy, Dean probably could fly, and he would be able to, soon…he saw Dean shoot him a worried glance when the idiotic grin spread over his face, so Sam clamped down on the bubble of hysteria that was rising in his chest, and felt the pressure build.

Suddenly the crowd was moving forward, to drop flowers and cards and who knows what else on top of the empty casket. People were patting his shoulder, trying to hug him, but he stepped back, stomping right on Dean's foot as his older brother reached out to steady him…to trap him. "No, let go," he muttered, pulling away and struggling to move further from the pressing crowd.

Dean's hand dropped from his brother's arm, and he held his hands up, placating. This was the most emotion Sam had shown in days, and he was a little worried about what all the pent up feelings were going to do, and how they were going to come out. He had a feeling that the results might be explosive, and wasn't sure that the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by all of Jess' family and friends, was the best place for a meltdown to occur.

Suddenly, Sam pushed forward, through the crowd, and dropped down to his knees, kneeling at the lip of the large hole that held the polished wooden casket. People turned to stare, but he was oblivious now, he had blocked out everyone, not even aware of his older brother, who had knelt beside him, monkey suit and all. Fumbling inside his suit jacket, Sam pulled out a small object, clutching it tightly in a white knuckled grip.

"Jess," he whispered, leaning forward to touch the casket that had yet to be lowered all the way into the ground.

Dean's arm shot out, afraid that his brother was going to tumble head first into the ground after his girlfriend, but Sam leaned back again, and Dean's hand snaked back to his side.

"You know, I was going to wait until after the interview for this…I shouldn't have waited, Jess. But I had it all planned out. After the interview, I was going to take you to that bench, the one where we watched the sun set every Friday night…"

Suddenly he sobbed, and all the tears that had been absent for so long made themselves known. With trembling fingers, Sam opened his hand to reveal a small, red, velvet box, and carefully, he pried it open, revealing the cut diamond that glittered in the sun.

"I love you, Jess," the words came out stunted, he was choking on the sobs that seemed to be stuck in his throat. "And I would be honored if you would be my wife…"

The ring slipped from numb fingers, the gold band catching in the sunlight as it fell into the dark hole. No one said anything as earth-shattering sobs were torn from the young man's throat. And as he began to slip sideways, they looked away, unable to watch as his brother caught him and pulled him backwards, far enough from the graveside that Sam couldn't fall in and follow the same path as that abandoned ring.

"Dean," the word came out as a plea. _Save me…_

"I've gotchya, Sammy. I'm not letting go…"

It was hard to draw a breath now, the sobs leaving him gasping, unable to take in enough air before the next one was wrenched from his abused vocal cords. He could feel Dean pressing him closer, as if somehow he could tie Sam down and keep him from being swept away in this storm…

"I've gotchya, I've gotchya…"

Dean pressed Sam's forehead to his own, hand holding tightly to the back of his head, trying desperately to ground Sam, keep him from falling…

The vise around his chest was tightening, and as if his body hadn't already committed enough betrayal, his head suddenly erupted in blinding pain, and his body arched as his back attempted to tear itself apart…

He was screaming.

Dean was screaming. "Shit, Sam, not now, not now!"

_His mother was screaming. Sliding up the wall…_

"Sam!"

_Jess was screaming…it was his fault, his fault, he knew, he knew…_

"Sam!"

"Should I call for an ambulance?"

_Dad was screaming. "Sammy!" _

He was rocking, moving. "Just hold on until I get us back to the motel, Sam."

"_Dean! Sam!" _

"Dad…"

"No, kiddo, Dad isn't here, just hold on…"

"_Take Sam and run!"_

_Take Sam and…_

_Run._

_Sam. Run._

_Fly._

_No, Dad, he's screaming, he's screaming…_

"Daadd…"

Dean cursed his father to the seven hells and back again as he dragged Sam into the empty room, trying to ignore the pulsating muscles beneath his hands.

_He's screaming, blood, so much blood…_

_Something silver flashing in the dark._

_Screaming._

"_No! You leave my boys alone!"_

_Pain, God, it hurts…_

"Daaadd…hurtsss…."

"I know kiddo," Dean's own tears slipped silently down his face as he gently flipped his brother on his stomach, revealing the moving mass of muscle. Suddenly, he thought of all the beetles in "The Mummy" and wondered if he was going to be sick.

_It hurts, it hurts…_

"_Dad!"_

"_Sammy, get out of here!"_

"_No, I'm not leaving without you!" _

"Daaddd…"

"Can't we just catch one damn break!" Dean screamed into the empty air, whirling around angrily, looking for something, anything that he could direct his rage at.

"Deeaann…"

"_Where's Dean?"_

_Dean…where was Dean._

"_I don't know, Dad…"_

_Suddenly, there was a face in the darkness, illuminated by a fiery sword._

_Hands reached for him, grasping at his back, and grabbing something, pulling…_

_He tried to move, tried to escape._

"_DAD!"_

"_Sam!"_

"_DEAN!!"_

"Deee…"

Dean knelt beside the bed, pushing back the sweat soaked curls. "I'm here, Sammy. Right here…"

_The sword came down, he could smell burning flesh and feathers and then…_

"Ahhh!!!"

Sam's entire body moved to push the wings from his back. It wasn't the gentle unfurling that Dean had shown him, no. They were ripped from his shoulder blades in one forceful push, knocking Dean around the head and causing him to fall backwards as new muscle and feathers occupied the space where he had been.

_Nothing._

*~~*

His whole body hurt.

At least, he thought it was his body.

It felt kinda funny.

Like there was something soft and heavy on his back. Wrapped around him.

Kinda like a down comforter.

Except, there was more down, and less comforter.

A lot more down apparently.

"Dean," he muttered, "Get your feathers out of my face."

Across the room, a chair clattered to the floor and there was a loud 'whump' which Sam registered was the sound of a falling body. More specifically, Dean's. "Shit, Sammy, gave me a heart attack. Shouldn't scare your older brother when he's sleeping."

There was a pause, in which Sam tried to figure out how his brother's wings could possibly be on top of him when Dean's voice was coming across the room when things finally started to click into place…

"Holy crap, I've got wings!"

Sam jumped from the bed, managing to painfully smack his shin off the end table and then trip over a discarded pile of clothes and duffel bags--probably Dean's doing. "And apparently, no grace," Dean quipped, trying to keep the grin from splitting his face as Sam bounced around on first one foot, then the other, finally wind milling his arms to land face first on the other bed.

"Ouch," Sam muttered, pulling himself up and kicking the offending duffel bags away and managing to stub his socked toe. "Damn it!" He was still in suit pants, which Sam made a mental note to thank Dean for later, but his jacket, tie and shirt were discarded in a pile with Dean's own clothes. "Crap, crap, crap…"

"Sam…just calm down," Dean couldn't help the laughter that was slipping into his voice.

"I am calm, you jerk! I have frickin' wings coming out my back, and I have no idea how to make them…" he waved his hands around wildly.

"Make them what?" The grin was definitely pulling at the corner of his mouth. His brother looked like an overgrown chicken…

"You, know, poof!" His hands waved outwards rather violently, nearly clocking Dean who had made the mistake of coming too close.

"Poof?" Dean bit his lip, green eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Yeah, poo…" Sam looked up, finally noticing Dean's loosing battle with laughter. "Are you making fun of me? You're making fun of me aren't you!" He stood, wings framing him angrily, making him look like a half, crazed, and half naked, version of an avenging angel. Dean couldn't help it as a howl escaped, and he collapsed on the lime green motel carpet, giggling like a toddler.

Sam's displeasure came out as a strangled grunt, making him sound like a dying cow, and causing Dean to laugh even harder. Hands fisted at his sides, Sam took a step forward, caught his foot on the duffel bag, again, and toppled down, unused to compensating for the weight on his back. He landed on Dean, who felt all the air leave his stomach for the second time since he'd caught back up with Sam, and both of them were left spluttering on the floor, too tangled up to move.

Finally, when Dean was able to breathe again, he spoke. "You gotta stop trying to get me in bed like this. Clearly, it isn't working."

Sam moaned and punched him, blindly swinging and hitting him in the stomach, causing Dean to gasp again. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Somehow they managed to disentangle themselves, and Sam made sure he moved the offending duffels and clothes piles to an unused corner, before deciding to try the conversation with his brother again. Sitting gingerly, and attempting to ignore the heavy, but not uncomfortable, weight at his back, Sam cleared his throat. "Right, so, umm…how do you…"

"I swear, Sammy," Dean started, grin already tweaking at his lips as he leaned back in his chair and propped his legs up on the table, "if you say poof…" at this the smile reappeared, "I think I might pee myself."

"Fine, Dean, how the hell do you get rid of them!" Sam snapped, nonexistent patience long gone by now.

"Okay, okay, don't get your wings in a bunch…"

"Dean," Sam hissed.

"Fine, don't get your feathers in a knot?"

"DEAN!"

"Sheesh," he muttered, his chair clunking to the ground as he stood. "I'm serious, Sammy, you gotta relax."

"Relax?! You want me to relax? I have these things growing out of my back and you want me to relax!"

Dean winced internally, and then played the sucker card. "Yeah, I know, Sam. Remember, I've got them too! And for your information, you weren't there when I woke up to mine! In fact, I had Dad to wake up to, who was trying to figure out if there was a way to cut them out of my back without killing me, so, yeah, I get that it's a little hard to relax, Sam!"

Sam froze at the edge of the bed, paling at Dean's words. "Oh, God, Dean. I'm so sorry. I didn't think, I just, with Jess, and…"

Dean's own guilt caused his gut to twinge, and he crossed the room in three long strides, already steeling himself up for another chick flick moment. "No, Sammy. It's okay. Everything's okay, I promise…"

He pulled Sam close, ready to soothe him by rocking as he had when his brother had been shorter than he was, when he realized that Sam was vibrating. Moving back and holding his brother at arms length, Dean studied Sam's face and realized that his brother was silently laughing. "Dude! What's so funny?"

Sam glanced at Dean's face, and looked away again, biting his lip as he shook with the hysterical giggles.

"What, is there something on my face?"

"No," Sam smiled. "It's just…Man, I think the wings have turned you into a giant girl. You've initiated more hugging in the past week than I ever have."

Sam supposed he deserved the slap that was delivered to the back of his head.

*~~*

Dean had, eventually, explained to Sam that the easiest way to get rid of the wings was to go to sleep.

"Seriously, the only way I really know how to get rid of them is to go to sleep. I mean, they go away when you calm down, but I don't think you're going to do that while cooped up in this motel room…"

"So, if they disappear when you calm down, when do they…pop out?"

Dean had to struggle not to grin, and so he turned away when he answered. "Mine tend to try to, pop out," his voice cracked a little at this, "when I'm really mad. Or I guess, scared shitless."

"You, scared?"

Sam sounded genuinely surprised, and Dean turned, catching the concern that flitted across his brother's face. "Yeah, even Batman get's scared sometimes, Sammy."

"Yeah, that's when he has to call Superman for help."

"That will never happen."

"Oh, come on, Superman has laser vision, and he can fly…" He paused, eyes suddenly lighting in excitement. "Do you think we can fly, Dean?"

_Dean was standing in the big empty field, Sam holding onto his hands. "You ready Sammy?"_

"_Ready, Dean!"_

"_Three, two, one, blast off!!" Dean swung around quickly, Sam's feet lifted from the ground as they spun._

"_I'm flying! Deanie, I'm flying!" _

_They were laying in the grass, watching the sun set, when Sam's little hand reached out to grab Dean's own. "Do you think we can fly, Dean? For real?" _

"_I don't know, kiddo," the mere thought of a plane made Dean panic. "I like keeping my feet on the ground."_

"_Don't worry, Dean. I'll hold your hand. I'll be just like Superman. We can fly away, together."_

"_You know, Sammy. I might just like that." _

The mere thought of flying still sent a wave of panic through him. "You can try it. Me, I'm not throwing myself off any buildings."

Sam seemed to study him for a second and then shrugged. "Fine." He stood, moving towards the duffel bag that held all the books that Dean had carefully packed. His wings folded neatly behind his back, luckily, keeping him from clipping both the lamp and Dean's head as he walked by. "Wait a second," he turned suddenly.

"What?"

"If your," Sam gestured at his back, "pop out whenever you're angry…wouldn't they be comin' out an awful lot?"

"Ha ha, very funny, Sam." Dean glared, but there was no heat behind it. "For your information, I said try, _try_, to pop out."

"Well, then why don't they?"

"Because I've always had better self control than you."

Childishly, Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair before smoothing it down his face. "Honestly, Sam, I'm just starting to figure this thing out. I mean so far, the wings are it, but I highly doubt that they'll be the only thing to go haywire on us. So far, neither of us are glowing with otherworldly light, so I guess that's a good sign…

"And I'm not a girl," Dean continued.

"Yet," Sam interjected.

"Unlike Samantha," as if he hadn't been interrupted, Dean proceeded. "When those…things…are gonna 'pop out' there's like, a half second of warning where it hurts. And if you stop them from coming out, it hurts a lot more…but it's easier than explaining why you look like a freakin' fairy in a biker bar."

"So how do you do it?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just…It's like I lock them up in my head."

"Uh-huh…" Sam cleared his throat. "Right, then I'll just see if there's anything about how to make them disappear in here," he riffled through the bag.

Dean was about to turn, intent on finding his jacket and car keys so he could go feed his raging belly, when Sam's spine stiffened. Sam spun around slowly, an unreadable look on his face. "Dean, where did this come from?"

In his hand, Sam was holding a thick, battered, leather journal.

**A/N: Let me know what you're all thinking. There's nothing I enjoy more than hearing about what you guys like, dislike, or are curious about in the story! (P.S. All flames will be used to burn the ticks! Since there are an abundance of them where I live. Feel free to send the flames my way!).**


	6. It's the End of the World as We Know It

**A/N: Hey guys, this is kinda one of those in between chapters in which important things need to be established for future understanding. Yeah. One of those things. SaintsGhost, I will try to get Dean's wings out soon (he's kinda not likin' the idea right now).**

**Updates may take a little longer throughout the week because I am **_**supposed**_** to be working.**

**The title for this chapter is taken from a song by R.E.M.**

**Love you guys and hope you enjoy!**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Five: It's the End of the World as We Know It**

Dean had stared at the journal like it was going to leap up and bite him on the ass. "Is that…Dad's?"

"You mean you didn't put it in here?"

Dean slowly shook his head. "No. I haven't seen it in nearly five months."

"Five…" Sam's forehead creased. "But you only just…"

"I didn't leave, Sam. He did. I went to bed one night, and when I woke up, he was gone."

"So…how did?" Sam gestured with the journal in his hand.

"I don't know."

They spent the next hour tearing the room apart for further evidence that their father had in fact been there, but found none. It was as if the journal had just appeared out of thin air. Sam had finally decided to call Bobby, who had headed back to his house with all the boys stuff two days ago, since Jim, Caleb, and Joshua all had gotten called off on an emergency hunt, some banshee terrorizing an all boy's high school. Dean had stormed out, poked his head back in and told Sam not to go anywhere with his wings hanging all over the place, and stormed out again, intent on getting food and trying to ignore whatever feeling it was that was attempting to bubble up and out of him.

Problem being, by the time he got back with a lukewarm bag of take-out, he was so worked up that he could almost feel his back muscles rippling. Sam was on the bed furthest from the door, books spread all over the place, wings adjusting every few seconds like some strange version of a nervous tic. The younger of the two looked up, took one look at Dean's face, and jumped to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, and the pain sliced up his spine, nearly bringing him to his knees as he leaned against the table, bag slipping from his stiff fingers. "Shit," he muttered, bending at the waist as he mentally pushed back, the pain increasing as the muscle spasms lessened.

He felt Sam pressing him into an abandoned chair, felt the cool brush of feathers against his fingers as he blindly reached out to keep himself from falling. "It hurts less if you just let it happen, right?"

"I'm not just gonna let this crap happen," he ground out, pushing again and causing the pain to flare up. "Shoulda just let Dad rip'em out…"

"Dean, please," Sam knelt in front of his brother, keeping steadying hands on his arms so Dean didn't do a face plant. He never noticed how his wings flared and wrapped around both of them, as if they could stand between them and the world.

"No, I won't let anything happen to you…Not without a fight…"

And Sam didn't have anything to say about that.

*~~*

Dean was sleeping, exhausted after the fight against…whatever it was. Sam was back on his bed, having been unable to get a hold of Bobby, he was trying to content himself with mass amounts of research while ignoring the soft tickling of the wings at his back. So far, he hadn't found anything of interest, and he felt like a pretty big idiot to be researching himself.

This day had royally sucked. Jess was dead, he passed out by her grave…

He kept having crazy dreams and was wondering if he should have known that Jess was going to die before she did…

And if he was supposed to know, then did that mean that their dad was in some sort of trouble?

He was distracted as his phone vibrated across the end table, and he snatched it up before it could wake Dean. Dean, for his part, just snorted and rolled over, facing the door. Sighing, Sam flipped the phone open. "Hello."

"Sam? You called earlier, and sounded pretty, uh…messed up."

"Messed up is probably a good word for it, Bobby."

Reaching for his Dad's large leather jacket, _how had Dean ended up with that,_ Sam shrugged it on, covering the wings that were folded tightly against him and stepping outside into the cool evening air. Carefully, he walked around the Impala, hopping up onto the trunk and making himself at home.

"You need me to come out?"

"Nah, I don't think so…" His leg swung absently as he glanced up at the darkening twilight. "Dad was here."

"What?"

"Well, we think he was here. We found his journal mixed in with all our books."

"When I see that idjit…" The connection fuzzed and then returned.

"And I sprouted wings today. Can't seem to get them to go away, though. Dean says I need to be calm. It's just, anytime I calm down, I think about Jess, or Dad, or that demon. Or I see Dean and can tell he's trying to hold it all together…" A tear slipped from his eye and he angrily dashed it away. "He came to me for help, and now all I'm doing is making it worse, Bobby."

"That's not true, Sam. Four years, that boy has been a mere shell of himself. I haven't seen him like this for four years. Trust me, Sam. It could be worse." He cleared his throat. "And you two are a couple of morons. I'm sure you're trying to suck information from anything that even remotely looks like a book, and Dean's trying to deny that anything's different."

Sam laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to him. "That's 'bout right, Bobby."

"So why don't you get to bed, and the two of you get an early start out this way tomorrow. I've got your stuff all waitin' for you, you'll be out here in a couple of days at the latest. And then we'll figure this thing out together."

"Figure this thing out? Bobby, there is almost no lore or anything on this. Half the texts say that the Nephilim are man eating giants, another half claim that they're heroes from old. Apparently they taught humans magic, and science, and who knows what else, there's no mention of what they can do…and…"

"And what, Sam? What did you read that has your knickers all in a twist?"

"Do you think…I mean…"

"Come on, kid, can't help you out if you don't talk to me."

Sam swallowed hard, suddenly shivering in the cool night air. "In the Old Testament, the archangels Michael, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel, they were charged with hunting down and destroying the Nephilim." His wings convulsed under the jacket, settling tighter against him as if to protect from an attack. "And some of the Nephilim, their spirits became demons…"

"Sam. Listen to me, ya dingbat. You're gonna get off the phone, and you're gonna go to bed. You're not gonna worry about angels and demons tonight, alright? You just make sure you salt the doors and windows and lock up tight. Then tomorrow, you and your dimwitted brother are gonna drive your asses out here, where I can knock some sense into you two, and we can figure this out. Okay?"

It was as close to an order as Bobby had ever come to giving. Slowly, Sam nodded, and then realizing that Bobby couldn't see him, he vocalized it. "Okay, Bobby."

"Night, Sam."

"Night, Bob…" He was left with just a dial tone.

Sighing, Sam shut the phone, sliding off the back of the car. Patting the hood fondly, Sam slipped back into the dark motel room, locking the door and checking the salt lines before getting ready for bed. He never noticed the man standing in the shadows of the tree across the parking lot, watching his every move.

When the light in the motel room finally flicked off, the man shifted, stretching stiff muscles, and moved off down the road, stopping when he came to a large black truck, jumping into the cab and driving off into the night.

*~~*

It was Dean that discovered their latest problem.

Yes, Sam's wings retracted when he fell asleep. Exhaustion had led him to a state of collapse the night before and he'd ended up waking up wingless, but still not rested. So Dean wasn't surprised when he'd conked out in the car shortly after they hit the highway.

He was even less surprised when the whimpers and moans started. The kid had always been prone to nightmares when he was little, and after the week that they'd had…Dean was lucky the kid even went to sleep.

"Shh, Sammy, go back to sleep," Dean whispered, and Sam settled.

Two minutes later Dean had pulled to the side of the road as Sam's sounds of discontent had turned to ones of pain and the black wings pushed through his back, ripping through, _thank God_, that stupid dog shirt. Trying to get the shirt off had been a pesky problem all unto its own, and Dean ended up having to cut it off in strips, careful to avoid the black wings that kept trying to stretch out and smack him in the face. Like the Impala hadn't been cramped enough already.

"Plack!" Dean hacked as another feather poked up his nose. Never one to miss an opportunity, another offender slipped into his mouth as he attempted to cut the shirt, leaving him spluttering. "God, you taste gross, Sam."

Sam turned to tell him off and smacked him full in the face with the strong wing. "Ahh, Sam! My eye!" Dean's hand flew up to the injured appendage, swelling already evident.

"Dean, oh gosh, I'm sorry…" he turned the other way to get a better look and Dean threw himself backwards, feeling the air rush by his head as he barely managed to get out of the way in time. Sam bit his lip, trying not to grin at the look of pure frustration on Dean's face. This wasn't much fun for him, but he was glad he still got the same sense of satisfaction from irritating his brother that he always had.

"Just. Don't. Move."

"I'm trying, honest," Sam whined. "But these things have a mind of their own."

"I think you just subconsciously want to hit me," muttered Dean, "and now you're going to blame it on those things."

Sam huffed but worked hard on concentrating on keeping his wings from clocking Dean. He leaned forward against the side window, trying to give Dean better access, and suppressed the wince at the sound of his favorite shirt tearing. His brother managed to get the shirt off from around his wings just as a tractor trailer nearby decided to honk its horn. Sam jumped, startled, wings unfurling, once again catching his brother unaware.

"Shit, Sam, I think you broke my nose."

Sam turned to find Dean clutching at his face, blood running in little rivulets between his fingers. Now, he couldn't help but grin, remembering a time about twelve years earlier when he had startled a sleeping Dean and been on the receiving end of his fist. "Told you I'd get you back when you least expected it."

Dean glared the best he could with blood bubbling between his fingers, finally reaching for one of the pieces of the discarded shirt to wad up and press over the rapid flow. A muffled, "Payback's a bitch, you bitch," came from behind the t-shirt, and Sam grinned, knowing all was forgiven.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes on the side of the road, waiting for the blood to clot and the flow to stem. Already Dean had a nice set of raccoon eyes forming, and when he turned to Sam another succession of rapid apologies flowed from the younger brother's mouth like word vomit. All Dean said was something along the lines of, "Hit me again with those things and you're sitting in the back," before pulling off the shoulder and back onto the highway.

It wasn't long before Dean popped in a cassette tape, clearly hoping to avoid the conversation that he could already see forming in Sam's head. Apparently singing _Back in Black_ was not going to be enough to avoid a Sammy Special.

"Dean."

_Crap. _"Yeah, Sam?" he reached out and pumped the volume up, hoping to somehow drown out his brother's voice.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"We need to talk."

Four words that Dean most definitely did not want to hear.

"About what, Sam?" he sighed, punching the button that would shut off the music, and silently apologizing for the maltreatment of his baby.

"Well, for starters, how come your wings go away when you sleep and mine…you know."

"Don't go poof?" Dean supplied, mentally sighing as he realized that there was no way out of this conversation. Sam hadn't changed at all from when he was three, saving the most difficult questions for the car, where Dean was cornered and had no way out. Dean's absolute favorite having been, _Dean, why is a banana yellow?_ John had had to pull the car over because he was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face as Dean tried to stumble through a seven-year-old's explanation of the coloration of fruit.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, glancing at Dean from under his bangs and looking quickly away, wincing as he took in the deep purple color ringing his brother's eyes.

"I don't think that one takes a college degree to figure out, Sam." In fact, Dean was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier. "I told you that you had to be calm, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, when I sleep, I'm as calm as I get…when you sleep…even when you were little Sam, you attempted to replay the Amityville Horror in your head."

Despite the fact that it stung, Sam knew Dean was right. His sleep was generally anything but restful. John had always said it was because Sam liked to internalize everything, and Dean had always told Sam, lovingly, that it was because he was a freak. "Okay, so, does this mean that these things are gonna be permanently stuck on the outside."

Reaching one hand up to his nose protectively, Dean mumbled, "God, I hope not," and shot a grin over at his little brother.

Sam returned the smile with a wavering one of his own, and Dean's heart sank.

"It'll be okay, Sam," he figured that if any time was the time to bullshit, now was it. "Your…mojo, powers, whatever the heck you wanna call it, probably just works different than mine. I mean, our personalities are completely different, so, why wouldn't they work differently too?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam mumbled. Suddenly he took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. "Butwhatifweturnintodemosnandthearchangelstrytohuntusdownand…"

Dean stomped on the break to avoid an accident as Sam's wings flared out in agitation, blocking the windshield from view. "Woah, woah, woah, slow down, dude, take a breath…"

Figuring that this might not be the best conversation to have while driving, Dean once again pulled off the road, ignoring the irate horns as he worked his way over to the shoulder. Finally, car safe on the side of the road, Dean turned to face his clearly panicking brother. "You wanna run that one by me again?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not really."

"Not really?" Dean shook his head. "Nuh-uh, Sammy boy, you don't just get to drop a load of dookie into a crowded car like that and expect me to ignore it."

"Dookie?"

"Stop trying to change the subject, Sam."

"M'not trying to change the subject," Sam's voice was petulant and he crossed his arms over his chest, whether to keep Dean out or to keep something in, he wasn't sure. "I just don't wanna talk about it now."

"No way, kid, you started this one, now I'm gonna finish it. What's this about demons and arch something or other?"

Sam glanced up guiltily and turned away, suddenly wishing that he was wearing a shirt. Mentally, he realized that he should probably cut slits in them as soon as possible to avoid losing any more…Dean's gaze wasn't letting up, and for some reason, he looked even more menacing when his eyes were half-swollen shut.

"Sam."

Sam knew that voice. The one that said, _I'm your big brother and we'll sit here all day if we have to, because I have nothing better to do, so you better just spill before I get even more irritated and try to beat it out of you._

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, Sam, clearly this is bothering you, so you should have said something. Now say it."

"It's just…what do you know about the archangels?"

"The really cool ones with the fiery swords? Aren't there like four of them, or something?" Dean raised an eyebrow, ignoring the pull on his throbbing eyes, clearly questioning where this was going.

"Yeah. Their names are Michael, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel."

"Right, Pastor Jim did a sermon about them once or something like that."

Sam nodded tightly and then redirected his gaze so he didn't have to look at his brother. "One of the things they were charged with was hunting down the Nephilim."

The silence was deafening. Sam wished Dean would say something, anything. It didn't have to be reassurance, a cuss word would do fine, but he needed to know that Dean was breathing, that he was still alive, that he hadn't been shocked to death, he couldn't lose him, not after Jess…

"Dean, say something, man, please…"

"So, we're gonna have freakin' angels on our asses?"

"I don't know, Dean." Sam looked away again, unable to meet his brother's own empty gaze. Part of him hoped Dean was so wrapped up in that that he'd forget about…

"So what's this thing about demons?"

_Crap._

"Don't think I said anything about demons, Dean." But Dean had caught the flinch and the flash of guilt in his eyes.

"Don't lie to me, Sam."

Sam sighed, and then turned to face his brother full on. "Some of the texts said that the souls of the Nephilim became demons and are responsible for a lot of the demonic possessions to date."

Dean's door flung open, ignoring the traffic roaring by, and slammed shut as he stomped off into the brush on the side of the road. Even from inside the Impala, Sam could see the lines of pain and concentration, knew he was trying to force, whatever the heck it was, back so that his own wings didn't come ripping out into the open. Sam didn't have the luxury of walking away. Not when everyone on the busy highway would be able to see the new appendages attached to his back. Instead he had to sit and wait for Dean to cool down, trying to ignore his own frantic thoughts.

Sam reached out, fiddling with the radio, switching out AC/DC for his own battered REM cassette that he'd found at the bottom of the box. Closing his eyes and leaning against the window, Sam tried to relax, repeating the lyrics to 'Losing My Religion,' in his head, attempting to drown out his own thoughts. The music was soothing, and eventually he drifted off, never noticing the large black truck that pulled in front of the Impala or the approaching figure.

A sharp rap on the window startled him, and he blearily looked around, wondering if Dean had locked himself out. It took a second before his head cleared and he stared out the window, eyes catching on a face that he knew as well as his own. Sam opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, words getting stuck in his throat.

Finally, his numb fingers found the door handle, and he shoved it open, nearly taking out the other man in the process. Sam stood shakily, white knuckled grip on the hood of the Impala holding him upright, and reached out an unbelieving hand as he whispered, "Dad?"

**A/N: How's that for a mean, nasty cliffy? (Whistle's innocently while sidling out the side door). Reviews will feed my hungry belly, and flames will nuke my dinner!! (How exciting). Let me know what you like/dislike so I can continue to improve the story!**

**Much love,**

**~Ocean-Born-Mary**


	7. Road to Nowhere

**A/N: Woohoo! I broke twenty reviews, and I couldn't do it without you guys! WARNING: Bipolar boys ahead (aren't emotional roller coasters fun?) and chick-flick moments sure to ensue. You have been warned. This chapter's title is taken from a song by the Talking Heads. ENJOY!**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Six: Road to Nowhere**

"What are you boys doing parked on the side of the road where anybody could see you like, like, that!" he snapped, gesturing towards the wings that were protruding from Sam's back. "Anybody could stop, someone might be after you and…" John took a deep breath, watching as his youngest paled considerably and stumbled back towards the car, collapsing into the passenger seat.

_Shiny happy people holding hands…_

Sam tried desperately to take his own deep breath, but he couldn't get enough air.

His head was spinning and Jess was dead.

One hand clutched at his chest as he bent over, wings wrapping him in his own protective embrace.

Dean was mad, he'd stormed off…

His chest hurt, it hurt, it hurt…

His dad hated him. He hated him.

Jess was dead. It was his fault. His fault.

John watched as all the color drained from Sam's face, and his worry spiked, further fueling his anger. "Where's your dim-witted brother? Isn't he supposed to be watching you?"

Sam shuddered, pressing further back into the Impala, away from his father. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked, a rough wheeze pulling from his chest as he tried to replace the oxygen he'd used to expel those words. "Sorry."

Sorry for everything.

For Stanford.

For Jess.

For not being able to help Dean.

For hating hunting, for wanting more.

Sorry. _Dean, m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry, don't leave._

"Sam. Sam you need to calm down. That's an order, son." The gruff man took a step forward but forced himself to stop when Sam flinched away. "Sam. Calm down."

He was trying to calm down. He'd been trying to calm down since Jess died. He'd been trying to calm down since these wings decided to attach themselves to his back, and he'd been trying to calm down since his dad threw him out of the house four years previously and told him not to come back.

Was his dad a total idiot? Wouldn't he calm down if he could?

"Can't…" he forced out, regretting it as the world spun, and he was forced to lean against the cool leather of the Impala. "Dad…"

Darkness was lingering at the edges of his vision now, his dad was yelling, ordering, bullying, but that wasn't what Sam needed. _Dean…_

*~~*

Dean stumbled through the brush, refusing to let the angry tears fall from his eyes. His life sucked. Their life sucked. And it sucked worse because they both had a taste of normal, only to be denied the chance at it for the rest of their, apparently, goddamned lives.

Top it off with the fact that he probably was damned, not because of his actions, but because of what he freakin' was…

If Dean believed in reincarnation, he'd wonder if perhaps he was unfortunate enough to have been a mass murderer in one of his past lives and it was now all coming back to bite him in the butt.

Stopping to lean against a large tree, letting the rough bark scrape at his back, Dean took a few deep breaths, calming himself. The spikes of pain slicing through his back and head were distracting, but not debilitating, and now was not the time to be sprouting wings.

Truth was, he was tired. Five months of fighting whatever this was, it took a toll on him, mentally and physically. Five months of refusing to give in…

Dean was almost ready to give in now. Not much longer before he hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces…

Maybe he should go find the freakin' archangels himself. Hey dumbass, over here, come kill me now!

Yeah, and then what? His spirit could turn evil and wander around possessing people? No wonder his dad had ditched.

His dad had ditched and he'd tried for five months to fight this thing. Five months before he finally went for help, went to Sam…

Only to find Sam worse off than he was.

Which meant Dean had to be the strong one again.

Had to hold on tight and lie with all his might so Sam would have a fighting chance. Because Sam was all that was left to fight for. The only thing left to hold onto. Problem being, when your rock has fallen off the cliff face, what was left for you to hang on to?

Running a hand through his short hair, Dean took another steadying breath, turning to head back to the Impala. Sam would probably be worried by now, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was add any more to that kid's already overflowing plate. He could almost imagine the state Sam would be in, probably muttering platitudes.

_Dean, m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry, don't leave._

The kid would think it was all his fault. Because Sam internalized _everything_.

Picking up the pace, sudden worry cutting through his chest, Dean pushed through the rough bramble, ignoring as branches and thorns reached out in an attempt to snag his clothes and make him stumble.

All at once, without a doubt, Dean knew something was wrong. He batted at the leaves in his face as he began running, his world narrowing down to the path in front of him.

_Dean._

"SAM!" he hollered, bursting out by the roadside, and freezing in place, gravel skidding from his quick stop and his body swaying as gravity attempted to assert its hold. There was a man, leaning over the Impala, he had to have seen the wings, was probably trying, going to hurt Sam…

The pain in his head intensified, and his knees gave way, hitting the dirt. He never even registered the face of the man as he turned, instead only seeing a threat to his brother…

"Get away from him!" the words came from between clenched teeth, for a second Dean thought he was going to bite straight through his tongue…

Then the pain was gone, and the man was lying a good ten feet away from the car, sitting on his rear and looking rather stunned.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, pulling himself up and stumbling towards the car, reaching into his waist band for the ivory-inlaid handgun, turning midway to level it on the… "Dad?"

His hands were shaking, and Dean clicked the safety back on, afraid he might shoot his own foot off. _Dad. He came, Dad came…_

A ragged gasp distracted him, and Dean whirled, father already forgotten when his eyes finally found Sam.

"Jesus, Sammy," he slid smoothly into the passenger seat, reaching out to tug at the shivering ball that at some point had been his younger brother.

Dean admitted that he should have seen the total breakdown coming.

Sam had seemed way to easy going about this whole thing.

That should have been the first sign that they were treading in dangerous water.

Sprouting wings at your girlfriend's funeral shouldn't look that easy.

"Come on, kiddo, I've gotchya." He tugged again, and Sam's long limbs unfolded, collapsing like spaghetti into Dean's lap as he took quick, shallow breaths. "Easy, you gotta take deep breaths, Sammy, deep breaths." One hand rested on Sam's back, between the wings, rubbing the bare skin there, the other fisted in Sam's hair, pressing his brother's ear to his chest so he could match the breathing to his own.

"That's right. In…good, now out…"

Finally Sam managed to draw a couple of deep breaths, trembling limbs regaining strength so they could wrap around Dean, much like a baby monkey that they had once seen at some zoo.

Of course, Dean should have remembered that there was a third party to this entire exchange.

"Dean."

He jumped, surprised. How could he have forgotten that their dad was there? How were they going to stay alive if he couldn't even focus on his immediate surroundings anymore?

At the sound of their dad's voice, Sam had taken another short breath, following it in quick succession with a number of others.

"Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I know dad scared you, but I promise, he isn't mad at you. I'm not mad, you just gotta calm down…"

He attempted to glare at his dad, but his vision seemed to be blurring and something wet was sliding down his face. Was it raining? Inside the Impala?

"Dean, we need to go."

Sam's breathing had relaxed somewhat, but Dean knew that whatever conversation they were about to have was going to blow that right out of the water. "Sammy, I've gotta go talk to Dad, but I'm gonna be right outside, okay? Can you hold onto my jacket for me until I'm done?"

Sam didn't want Dean to move.

No. Scratch that. Sam didn't want to move.

It would take too much effort and he'd just managed to get comfortable.

But Dean was moving.

For a second he thought about fisting his hands into Dean's shirt, and his breath hitched. Dean stilled. "M'okay, Dean," he whispered, pulling away, and sliding over towards the driver's side. His breaths were still jittery, his entire body shaking like he'd overdosed on steroids, but it was going to be okay, because Dean was there now.

"I'll be right outside, Sam," Dean whispered, slipping off the leather jacket that smelled like both their dad and Dean, passing it over to the younger man, who curled up under it immediately, eyes slipping closed.

Dean scooted out, and quietly shut the door behind him, turning to face John Winchester. "Dean, we have to go now."

"We? We have to go?"

"Yes, Dean, now," John snapped, rubbing absently at his backside where he'd landed.

"No, Dad. I think the only one that wants to go anywhere is you. You made that painfully obvious five months ago."

"Dean, now is not the time for arguments," John glanced around, noting that the nonexistent wind had picked up, and reached out, grasping Dean's arm and shaking him roughly. "Get in the Impala, and follow me."

"Dad…"

"If you want to keep Sam safe, you will do what I say now, Dean." John knew he should have felt guilt at the look of panic that flashed across his eldest's face. Ten, heck, even five years ago he probably would have. But right now, John wanted both his boys safe, and if hurting Dean was the only way to do that, then he would trample all over him. "Now get in the car, and follow me."

"Yes, sir," Dean whispered, eyes wide as he dashed for the driver's door. John set a quick pace back to his own truck

"Come on, Sammy, you gotta move over so I can get in."

Sam slid over, head falling against the window as he hiked Dean's jacket higher, eyes closing, even as his arms and legs continued their jig. "Where are we…going?"

"Don't worry about it, kiddo. You just get some sleep, and I'll wake you up when we get there."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, he's comin' too, Sam."

"Good."

"Good?" Dean asked, signaling to get back on the road, and then flooring it behind his father, wondering where the sudden rain had come from as he flicked on the wipers.

"I missed him," Sam muttered, body convulsing once more before finally falling still, leaving him exhausted. As sleep dragged him under, he finished his thought, leaving Dean with a cold empty feeling in his gut. "Even if he doesn't love me anymore…"

Following behind his father's watery tail-lights, Dean was glad that the other man was safely ensconced in his car, because if he was standing in front of him, it was likely that he'd put his dad right on his ass.

*~~*

In the cab of his truck, John swore at the sudden rain.

He should have gotten to his boys earlier. Days earlier.

But he needed everyone else out of the picture. It had been hard enough to devise a hunt that would be big enough to distract Jim, Caleb, and Joshua. He'd been too late to keep Bobby from coming out, but luckily Dean had convinced him that it would be better for the boys to go to the funeral alone and meet up with him later. Clearly, though, it hadn't been soon enough.

Truth be told, he'd been surprised at how bad off his boys were.

The wings had been a real shocker, but part of him couldn't help admiring how graceful his youngest look, how strong…

Until he saw the dark circles under his eyes, the fine tremble in his hands, the fact that he could practically count the kid's ribs…and then that panic attack. Clearly Sam was in a bad way.

The thing was, Dean wasn't much better off.

For starters, it looked like he'd broken his nose recently, if the swollen eyes were anything to go by.

But he'd lost weight too. Not as much as Sam…but still. And the lines of pain and exhaustion that marred his young face…

The kicker had been when Dean had thrown him nearly clear across the country, but Dean didn't seem to realize that he'd done it.

The problem being, the second he used those otherworldly powers, John knew that the arch angels could sense him. So he had to get the boys away from there, and fast, before they showed up.

Judging by the storm, they were well on their way there, and he still may not have gotten them out in time.

And then, to see Dean holding on to his brother, crying…

Dean didn't cry.

At least, not in front of him.

Pounding his fist on the steering wheel, John stepped harder on the gas, hoping that there were no cops ahead.

Behind him, he could hear the rumble of the Impala as it followed, and part of John relaxed, glad to know, that for this second, they were together again.

*~~*

Apparently the panic attack had taken enough out of Sam to give him a dreamless sleep, and Dean was happy to see the wings retreat, for now, since he was pretty sure that if one more thing happened to them that he was going to prove that people really could self combust. As his father's truck leapt forward, Dean followed suit, squinting slightly to try to see better through the downpour. Driving at this speed, in this weather, in the Impala could very easily become a recipe for disaster, so Dean was trying to pay extra attention to the road.

Deciding some music was in order to help him calm down and unfurl the bunched muscles in his neck and back, he reached out to turn on the cassette player, only to hear REM leak from his speakers. Apparently Sam had found his tapes. Dean knew he should have pitched them when the kid went to college. Next thing he knew, the kid would have Belinda Carlisle or New Kids on the Block coming from the speakers. Or if he was really lucky, Sam would find that N*SYNC tape and he'd have to gouge out his ear drums.

The cardboard box of tapes was in the back, strategically placed out of Dean's reach. "You bitch," he muttered, glancing at his sleeping brother.

Sighing, he decided to try the radio, but for some reason there was only static and a strange screeching noise, so Dean quickly thumbed it off. Resisting the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel, or wake up his brother (one Sammy Special was enough for today, thank you), Dean settled himself in for a long, quiet, ride, with only the rhythmic pounding of the rain and his own tumultuous thoughts to keep him company.

*~~*

Noon came and went.

Dean's stomach didn't appreciate the fact that his dad was apparently anti-stop. Not that he had been big on stopping when they were little either. In fact, Dean could clearly remember Sam having an accident in the back of the car when their dad insisted that he should be able to hold it until they got to the motel when the poor kid had been holding it all day.

So when Sam started stirring and his low fuel light came on simultaneously, Dean took it as his opportunity to take control of this trip. Changing to the middle lane and pulling up to the right side of his dad, he jerked his head to the side, indicating that he was getting off at the next exit. The rain had died down, and Dean was going to take the opportunity to get out of the car and stretch his legs, if only for a minute.

His dad shook his head vehemently, and Dean resisted the urge to give him the one fingered salute, switching over to the far right lane and watching as his dad's face transformed immediately into one of impatient frustration. It only took a second for his dad to follow suit, though, so Dean decided to ignore the death glares his dad was probably directing him from behind and focus his attentions on his slow waking brother.

"Hey, kiddo, feelin' better?"

Sam rubbed at his eyes and stretched, joints popping loudly in the cramped car. "Yeah," he rasped, and then cleared his throat.

Dean scanned him over quickly, noting that he didn't really look much better, bloodshot eyes and pale complexion, but he was still breathing, so Dean had to admit that this could be a major improvement.

"Good. How do you feel about some chow? My baby needs gas and I figured you could do with a bathroom break and a box of Ring Dings."

Sam shot him a small smile. "Throw in a bag of Doritos and a Slush Puppy and we've got a deal." He peered forward suddenly, just as Dean hit the exit, clearly confused. "Where's Dad?"

"Right behind us, he didn't go anywhere." _Yet._

Sam visibly relaxed, letting himself fall back into the seat. "Hey, my wings are gone!"

"Yeah, no nightmares."

"Uh, Dean?" "Yeah?"

"When we stop, can you get me a new shirt?"

"Afraid of drooling girls?" Dean grinned.

"No, Dean, unlike you, I don't do prepubescent."

Dean's smile fell away and he shot a dirty look at his brother, already trying to figure out how to get him back. "Just for that, no Doritos."

He signaled that he was heading to the gas station, ignoring the black truck that pulled up behind him, and immediately going for the trunk, popping it open and snatching Sam's duffel, slamming it, and then wincing as he heard his baby protest. "Here you go, Sam."

"Thanks, man." Sam caught the duffel as Dean tossed it through the open driver's door, immediately riffling through it.

John jumped out of the cab, slamming the door, but Dean totally ignored him, heading straight for the store, Sam clamoring to follow as he pulled a t-shirt over his head one handed, leather jacket still clutched securely in both hands. By the time John had rounded the front, both boys had disappeared inside, Sam heading straight for the bathroom in the back, and Dean heading for the candy isle.

He followed behind, going right for the counter himself, asking for 40 on pump 3 and pump 5, unsure what his boys' financial situation was. Dean came up behind him, arms full of Peanut M&Ms, Doritos, a box of snack cakes, and two slushies, one red, and one blue. "You didn't have to do that, Dad."

"I know, I wanted to."

Dean shrugged, dropping his items unceremoniously on the counter, ignoring the old woman chewing her gum like a cow behind the counter, adding a couple of energy bars to the pile and pulling out a wad of bills. Sam appeared a second later, glancing quickly at his dad before looking down, hiding behind his long bangs.

"Hey, Dad." Sam moved a little closer to Dean. He was wearing the leather jacket now, and it hung off his thin frame, accentuating the fact that he hadn't been eating.

"Hey, bud." John watched as Sam seemed to let out a breath that he'd been holding, as if he was afraid of what his dad's reaction was going to be. "You feeling better?"

Sam nodded tightly, shoving his hands into the deep pockets and wrapping the jacket closer, much as his wings had wrapped around him earlier. For some reason he wasn't sure he liked not having their weight at his back, and that mere thought sent a small pain straight up from his back to his temples.

Dean caught the quiet gasp, and he turned to face Sam, leaving the cashier holding a handful of change and no one to give it to. "Just take a deep breath, Sam."

Sam did as he was told, pushing back against the pain, and it subsided in his head, though not without leaving aching muscles behind.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks Dean."

"No problem," he turned back to the cashier, as if nothing odd had happened, shoving the spare change in his pocket and snatching up the bag and the slushies, passing the blue one to Sam.

All three men exited together, and Sam got back in the Impala, immediately ripping open the snack cake box and removing one of the plastic wrapped cake packs, passing one of the chocolate creations to Dean, who moved around back to pump the gas.

"So," Dean swallowed the last of the crème filling and watched as John filled the truck, figuring that now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. "Where are we going?"

John screwed the cap back on tight, replacing the pump. "I want to get at least across state lines before we stop, preferably a little further."

"We're in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, Dad."

"Yeah."

Dean sighed, docking his own pump. "So we aren't stopping anytime soon?"

John paused, studying Dean for a second, and realizing just how tired his son looked. And Sammy looked ten times worse. He didn't really want to let the boys out of his sight in this state. "I know a place, a couple towns over. We'll stop there and store the truck, and then we'll all take the Impala."

Dean froze, his hand on the hood of the car. "Are you serious?"

"You look like you could use some sleep, sport. You and Sammy both. I'll drive, and then when we get where we're going, we'll talk things out."

Dean recognized an olive branch when he saw one. The thing was, he wasn't sure he was ready to accept it, and he sure as hell wasn't certain that Sam was ever going to accept one. Swallowing hard, Dean nodded. "Okay."

"Then what are you waiting for, let's get this show on the road."

**A/N: All reviewers will be sent imaginary hugs, and all flames will be used to heat my house, since it is June, and very cold here (because the weather is schizophrenic!). Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think. And I promise, there will be Dean wings in the next chapter for SaintsGhost. I'm just not sure when I'll have it posted.**

**~Ocean-Born-Mary**


	8. Catch Me I'm Falling

**A/N: WOW! Thanks so much for the reviews guys, that's the most yet! You're awesome. I must say, psicat76's review had me laughing hysterically, comparing John's subtleties to that of a bulldozer. You made my night. This chapter is dedicated to SaintsGhost, who requested Dean wings (and who I sent a PM last night about Ring Dings, let me know if you didn't get it). Right, thanks again guys and ON WITH THE SHOW! P.S.--This chapter title is taken from Real Life.**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Seven: Catch Me I'm Falling**

Dean watched as his Dad carefully pulled the last of his 'necessities' from the truck bed, wondering where exactly the grenades and landmines had come from, and why he'd never seen them before now. Sammy was leaning against the hood of the Impala, thumbing through some book or another. Dean suddenly felt like he was twenty again, and that Sam was the sixteen-year-old who had gone an entire week not talking to their father after he had forced Dean to go on a hunt with a concussion. But Sammy's silence wasn't coming from anger or concern this time. He was clearly nervous about interacting with the elder Winchester, and Dean really couldn't blame him. It wasn't everyday that your father kicked you out of the house and told you to never come back.

They were both distracted as Sam's phone started ringing, 'Barbie Girl' filtering through the darkened garage. "What the heck, Dean?" Sam questioned, fishing the phone out of his pants pocket, wondering when his snickering brother had had time to change his ring tone.

John rolled his eyes, hoping that he would be able to finish reorganizing Dean's trunk sometime before the next new year. How the boy found anything in that mess he'd never know.

"Hello?"

Sam shifted, and then pushed away from the car, pacing in front of the hood. 'Who is it?' Dean mouthed, and Sam responded with a silent, 'Bobby.'

"Jim said the hunt was a bust, huh? Thought it was a set up?" Both boys turned to look at their father, suspicion clear in their eyes. John shrugged and decided that he was getting foam inserts for the Impala's trunk.

"Really?" Sam snorted, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Does sound like a classic Winchester set up." His eyes darted up to meet Dean's, and then returned to the ground. "Jail, really? Wow, Caleb must've been pretty pissed."

John flinched at that. He hadn't meant for them to get caught…

"M'okay." His voice wavered slightly, and Dean knew that Sam was busted. "No, really Bobby, I'm fine. Just haven't been feeling too hot, so, uh, we decided to stop early. It might take a little longer than we thought to meet you…"

His eyes shot up and caught John's, and seeing the approval at the lie, Sam continued.

"Nothing serious, just been pretty wiped, and you know how big of a mother hen Dean is."

A strangled sound left his brother's throat.

"Yeah, he's been doing that whole 'male bonding' thing," Sam smirked as Dean fumed.

"Give me that!" he snapped, snatching the phone from Sam's hand as his brother doubled over in silent laughter. "That's a dirty no good lie, Bobby…I have not been cuddling!"

_Cuddling_, John thought, _normally that was Sam's forte…_

"Sam," he called, tuning out Dean arguing with Bobby over the points of cuddling vs. male bonding, "Come here and help me with this, you're ten times more organized than your brother."

Sam brushed past Dean, who was now getting the low down on Jim's fake hunt, and leant over the trunk with his dad. "This isn't half bad for Dean."

"That's not saying much," John muttered.

With Sam's help, the trunk was ready to go in under five minutes, and Dean had finally gotten Bobby off the phone. Sam slipped into the back seat without being asked, and Dean took the passenger seat, glad to see that Sam decided to stretch out in the back. As John pulled out of the garage, Dean turned, snatching up the cassette tapes from the floor, pawing through them eagerly.

"Put in Air Supply," John ordered, merging with traffic.

"What, no," Dean snapped, moving the box away from John's searching hand.

"What's the rule, Dean? Driver picks the music…"

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole," Sam supplied from the back.

"Traitor," Dean mumbled, handing the box over to his father.

It was going to be a long ride.

*~~*

Dean remembered why he hated family road trips now.

The music generally sucked when he wasn't driving.

His dad had usually created some new way to quiz his hunting skills.

And Sam always ended up sulky and silent in the backseat.

He tried to fall asleep, but he was concerned about leaving Sam awake with just John for company.

"Can we please put in a different tape now?" Dean's fingers reached for the tape deck and got smacked away.

"No, we're stopping here."

The shabbily lit motel didn't win Dean's vote of confidence, but he knew better than to say anything by now. Their dad immediately went to rent a room, and Sam sighed from the backseat, rubbing at his forehead.

"You okay back there?"

"Hmm…oh, yeah," Sam's hands dropped self-consciously. "Actually, my head's killing me."

"We'll get settled in and get you some painkillers. And real food."

"So french fries?"

"Exactly."

John appeared a second later, starting the car back up and moving towards the end of the lot, taking the last parking spot and gesturing to the room at the end. "Alright boys, duffels and salt."

"Yes, sir." The automated response fell from both their lips, the synchrony something learned from years of practice.

Dean was out first, but he waited for Sam, watching as his brother pushed long legs from the car and grasped the edge of the door to help himself up. He froze for a second, swaying in place, eyes pinching shut. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to the seat. "Just sit for a minute, Sammy. You haven't eaten anything in awhile, it's probably starting to get to you."

He grabbed up both their duffels, John taking his own and the one with the weapons. "Sam okay?"

"I think he'll be better after he eats something," was Dean's only response before shutting the trunk, returning to Sam's side. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Sam pushed himself up again, stumbling behind his brother to the door.

Sam's vision was doubling now, and he was starting to wonder if this was really just a simple hunger headache. Dean, meanwhile, was griping about the fact that he and Sam were going to be forced into sharing a bed. Either that or one of them was going to be taking the floor.

Noticing Sam's lack of color, Dean dropped the duffels in the middle of the floor, and rounded on his brother. "Go lay down, Sam."

"M'fine," Sam muttered, still heading straight for the bed and crashing face down on it.

Dean snatched the car keys from his dad's hand. Part of him was afraid to leave the two of them alone, but they needed food, and that wasn't something that he could trust his dad with. "I'm going to get food."

"Good," John nodded. "I'll get the room set up. Sam, why don't you take a shower? Might help that headache you've got."

Knowing an order when he heard one, Sam dragged himself off the bed, scooping sleep pants up from his duffel, and staggering towards the shower. "Please don't kill each other while I'm gone," Dean implored of his father, before heading out to find the nearest fast food joint.

*~~*

John was nervous about being left alone with his youngest.

Admittedly, they hadn't parted on the best of terms.

And they hadn't reunited on the best of terms either. Especially since it resulted in a panic attack. Hopefully Dean would be back before Sam was even out of the shower.

*~~*

The water in the shower was lukewarm at best and doing nothing to soothe Sam's aching muscles. The headache was steadily growing worse, and Sam was now leaning against the scummy tiled wall, willing his limbs to stop trembling. Realizing that he should probably get out of the shower before he collapsed in it, Sam shut off the water, stumbling blindly out and grabbing up the sweats, slipping them on just as his vision began to darken.

As his eyes exploded in blinding pain and his knees gave out, Sam managed to call out for the one person he wondered if he could even count on to help him. "Dad!"

*~~*

John was so busy salting the windows he would have missed his name being called if it wasn't for the sound of a body hitting linoleum that followed. Dropping the canister, he flew towards the bathroom, worst fears taking over and nearly sending him into a panic mode. Kicking open the door, the first thing John noticed was that the entire bathroom was pee yellow.

The second was his son lying on the floor.

Sam's body was horizontal, curled on its side, revealing the angry looking scars where his wings would normally be. John could see his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids, almost like he was dreaming on the bathroom floor.

"Daaad…"

_Sam couldn't see. But he could hear familiar breathing next to him. Eighteen years of sleeping in motel rooms with the same man meant that he could recognize his father's breathing almost anywhere._

"_Dad?" _

"I'm right here, Sammy," John whispered, kneeling next to his son and wincing as he saw the blood trickling from his nose.

"_Sammy. Are you alright? Where's Dean?"_

_Dean. Where was he, where was Dean…_

"Deeee…"

John's heart clenched and he reached down to pull his son into a half sitting position against his chest, ignoring the fact that his shirt was soaked almost instantly from the water that Sam didn't have time to dry off. "No, buddy, it's Dad, Daddy's right here," John whispered into the wet hair.

_Someone was screaming. Dad? Dean?_

"_Run, Sam. Run! Get out of here."_

"_Can't leave without you. Not without you and Dean…" _

"Nooo…Daaaadd…"

John tried to press the white towel to his son's nose, tilting his head back slightly as he pinched, hoping to stem the flow.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, this is my fault, all my fault. I should have been there protecting you boys…"

Where the hell was Dean when he needed him?

_Sword, fire, pain, burning, his back, was he on fire…_

"Uhh…"

Sam stilled against him and John figured this was his best chance of moving him. Sliding one hand below Sam's knees and another around his back, John stood swiftly, worried about how easy it was for him to lift his 6'4" son. Moving quickly, he had Sam on the bed furthest from the door in seconds, placing him on the edge closest to the wall, knowing full well that Dean was going to want to occupy the other side.

The towel was red now, and though the flow had slowed, it had yet to stop, prompting John to get one of the disposable ice packs from the first aid kit and place it under Sam's neck. Glad to see that his son was just unconscious now and no longer having some sort of fit, John covered him up and proceeded to finish salting the door and windows, hoping to distract himself from the too still form that he'd left on the bed.

*~~*

Dean was having his own problems.

He'd had to park the Impala in an ill lit area, entirely too far away from the pub that he was purchasing the food at. It was cool in the early November air, and Dean's jacket was probably still wrapped around Sam's shoulders, since the kid had taken it like a security blanket and had yet to let go.

The bar was noisy and did nothing for Dean's already sour mood. As usual, his dad had managed to throw a giant corkscrew into his life without even trying. He had no idea what they were doing, why they were here, or why he should even give his dad the time of day. But as usual, he'd been unable to say no. And as much as he hated to admit it, he'd missed his dad, missed having someone else be in charge. It was kinda nice to know that there was someone else to do all the dirty work. He just needed to follow.

But at the same time, he wasn't sure whether or not his dad was just going to try cutting off his and Sam's wings. He should probably keep a close eye on him until he figured that one out. Worst case was, he could call Bobby. He'd give his dad the benefit of the doubt first, though.

The guy behind the bar attempted to pick him up, and Dean wasn't really in to being tactful tonight. He'd more or less told the poor man to drop dead, that he didn't swing that way. Dean had snatched up his food and left, only to be confronted by a couple of stupid kids thinking they could hold him up on the dark street not even a minute later.

Which is where he was now.

A couple of kids with baseball bats after his wallet were what pushed him over the edge. This cake had been baking in the oven since he'd sprouted wings for the first time. Over the next six months, multiple layers had been added, when his dad left, when Jess died, when Sammy nearly had a mental breakdown, when their dad decided to freakin' show back up and start running their lives again…and these kids were just the icing on top of it all.

He could feel the sharp spike of pain, but had no desire to stop it this time, almost reveling in the freedom as his wings ripped through his black shirt, funny how they matched both his attire and his mood, and snapped open, fanning his irate frame. He looked like a half-crazed angel holding a bag of takeout, not overly menacing, but it apparently was enough to scare the two idiots.

"What…wh…what are you…" the one stuttered, baseball bat clattering useless to the ground.

Dean couldn't resist. "I'm your worst nightmare," he hissed. "I am…" The two kids had taken off before he could even finish. "BATMAN!"

Shaking his head ruefully, Dean realized he felt better than he had in a long time. Maybe this suppressing the wing thing was a bad idea. A dry breeze blew past him, and his wings spread further, feathers ruffling in the cool wind. They attempted to flutter experimentally, and Dean turned to look at them, snapping, "Oh no you don't, I am quite happy here on the ground, thank you, very much." With that they folded neatly behind him, blending in with his t-shirt. Nodding his satisfaction, Dean continued to the car, happily whistling a nameless tune.

He should of figured that his dad and Sam would have come up with some way to ruin his two seconds of peace. How many times had he come home to find the two of them going at it?

In fact he was a little surprised that there wasn't any ear drum shattering yelling going on when he rumbled up. And then he realized that all the lights were off in the motel room. Wrapping one hand around his gun, the other still holding the take-out, Dean rapped quickly on the door and stepped back, ready to shoot whatever otherworldly creature came through.

Turned out, it was just his dad that opened the door, and John gestured him in, motioning for him to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Carefully, Dean stepped over the salt line, and dropped his load on the table, immediately noticing Sam laying flat out on his back under the bed covers. Poor kid must have been wiped…

Dean started unpacking the food from the bags when he turned to glance at Sam again, catching his pale features by the yellow bathroom light. Sam was on his back. Sam slept in all sorts of strange, contorted positions, most of them appearing way too uncomfortable for Dean to even attempt, but he rarely slept on his back.

Dean's eyebrows creased and he took a hesitant step towards the bed, turning towards his father who had already opened one of the styrofoam containers and was chowing down. "What's wrong with Sam?"

"Passed out in the bathroom…it was like he was having some sort of fit," John paused, putting his sandwich back in the container. "He kept calling for you and me, and his nose was bleeding…don't worry, I got it to stop." He nearly flinched under his eldest son's accusing glare. "He's just sleeping now. He woke up about ten minutes ago, said his head hurt really bad, so I gave him some painkillers and he dropped off."

"No wings?" Dean questioned, moving closer to his brother, checking to make sure Sam really was 'just sleeping'.

"No, no…" John looked up, the filtered light from the bathroom catching Dean's back, and that t-shirt was a lot glossier than it should have been. "Dean? What happened? What did you do?"

"Huh?" Dean turned, confused. "I just got some takeout." He stretched his arms, working out the kinks from sitting in the car all day, and his wings stretched themselves, sending a light breeze through the room as they flapped experimentally.

"Really? Then you wanna explain what those things are doing out?" John gestured at the gleaming feathers.

Dean grinned suddenly. "Scared a couple of kids off that thought they could get my wallet."

John stood suddenly, anger flitting across his features. "Damn it, Dean!" he hissed. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

Sam moaned and turned slightly in his sleep, causing John to jerk his head towards the door. Unsure of what was going on, Dean reluctantly followed his father outside, leaning up against the Impala and facing the pacing man.

"You wanna tell me what you're talkin' about?"

John turned sharply on his heel, surprised that Dean was questioning him. Dean just met his gaze with a steady look of his own, and shrugged.

"So, you gonna tell me what you're doin' here, or not?"

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, suddenly tired. "What do you know about archangels, Dean?"

"So Sammy was right? There are angels comin' after our asses?"

John nodded and waited for his son to finish cussing up a blue streak before continuing.

"So what the hell are we supposed to do? There's a demon after Sam, angels after both of us, and I can't wait to see what happens if this somehow leaks out to the hunting community…"

"Dean."

"And Sam looks like a good wind will topple him over and…"

"Dean," John's voice was firm and left no room for argument.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, just now realizing that his wings had unfurled and were hovering behind him. He concentrated on tucking them in, happy when they seemed to comply, still unused to this new slide of muscle and sinew. Glad that the parking lot was dark, Dean slumped further against the car, and indicated that he was ready to listen to his dad.

"I've been trying to research the Nephilim for the past five months. I put the demon on hold, which is part of the problem. If I'd been paying closer attention…" John sighed. "What happened with Jessica…"

Dean couldn't help the natural reaction. "It's not your fault, Dad." He had to absolve his hero.

John just shrugged. "It's hard to research something which supposedly hasn't existed since early biblical times. Eventually, I managed to track down someone like you." He swallowed hard and looked away from Dean.

"You have some sort of ingrained defense mechanism. Both you and Sam should have it, at least, that keeps the archangels from sensing you."

"But…" Dean prodded, sensing trouble.

"When you use your powers, it sort of sends out a signal, like a beacon almost, and they can hone right in on wherever you used them at."

"So, my wings…"

"No, not wings. I think those are just physiologically a part of you. No, I mean other powers."

Dean scratched his head, confused. "Uh…don't you think that sometime in the past six months I would have…you know…shown some sign of 'other powers' if there were any?"

"You did, sport. This morning."

Rubbing his hand over the back of his head now, Dean tried to remember anything odd about that morning--well anymore odd then things were right this second. "Not ringing a bell."

"You thought Sam was in trouble, Dean, and you threw me clear across the field."

Dean paled, suddenly remembering that his dad had been leaning over the car, and then just wasn't there anymore. He remembered that he had been in pain…

"That's why you hustled us out of there so fast," Dean whispered. "And that storm that came out of nowhere?"

John just nodded.

"Sammy…what about Sam? Is he gonna have powers, heck, what kind of powers do we have…"

"Woah, slow down." John held up a hand, trying not to smile as Dean's curiosity took off. "From what I was able to gather, they're different for everyone. The pain that you experience with," he gestured towards Dean's back, "you know, goes away the more you use them, and from what I understand, control comes with time. Still, it seems that when you get really freaked out that you have some sort of flight or fight instinct…literally, and…"

"Yeah, I think I got it, Dad."

"Look, you boys need to lie low for now. You can keep hunting and all that, but you shouldn't be attempting to use your powers, or whatever they are. At all. That's an order, Dean."

"Hey, don't look at me," Dean held his hands up defensively, "the last thing I want to do is attract the entire heavenly host down to flambé us." His stomach growled suddenly, breaking the quiet night, and John smirked.

"C'mon, let's go finish off that food you got."

Dean slept well that night, glad to know that his dad was between him, Sammy, and the door. If anything came through, they'd have to get through John Winchester first, and they'd be hard pressed to do that.

Dean supposed he should have seen it coming. There seemed to be a whole heck of a lot that he was missing lately.

The sound of Sam shifting around next to him was what woke him.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Not really.

It figured that he'd only be met by an empty bed and a scribbled set of coordinates.

He ignored it at first.

Until he saw the disappointment on Sam's face at the sight of the neatly made bed, and his heart nearly broke. Again.

**A/N: Hmm…a hunt the next chapter, how exciting. I just can't wait. So, how are we all doing? Let me know. Flames will be used to heat the boxed macaroni and cheese that I am just now going to make. Much love.**


	9. Toy Soldiers

**A/N: I'm glad you guys enjoyed the Batman scene. (And I'll have to side with Dean and agree that Batman is **_**way**_** cooler than Superman). You guys are wonderful for sticking with me this far. I will fully admit to enjoying writing this chapter (I've got to be some sort of sicko). Hopefully you'll enjoy it too…Oh, this chapter title is taken from a song by Martika. **

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Eight: Toy Soldiers**

It took Sam a few minutes to identify the rustling sound. Duffels being packed. And that loud thumping was the sound that Dean made when he walked around and was really ticked off about something. Sitting up, he rubbed at his bleary eyes, shaking off the last visages of the migraine from the night before. His stomach felt hollow and empty, and his legs were a little shaky, probably because he had stopped eating not long after Jess died. He realized now that this had been a stupid idea. It wasn't doing him any good, and it wasn't doing Dean any good. And now that their dad was there…

He saw the hurt in his brother's eyes before he even noticed the empty bed. And then he understood the packing. Their dad had left, and they were leaving.

"What are we doing, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, standing and poking through his bag for a set of, somewhat, clean clothes.

"Got a hunt," Dean muttered, eyes darting to Sam and away.

"What is it?" Sam asked turning so he could see his brother better.

"Don't know. Just got the coordinates this morning."

That's when Sam noticed the scrap of paper next to the battered leather journal on the table. "Oh, no," Sam snapped. "He doesn't just get to leave and expect us to, to…" Dean's jaw clenched and Sam stopped. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked suddenly. "When I got back last night…"

"Yeah," Sam poked his head out of the bathroom. "Just a really bad migraine." _And voices in my head._ "I'll be fine after we get breakfast." The water turned on and Sam shouted to be heard over the spray. "And breakfast does not consist of HoHos!"

Dean slipped the box of snack cakes he'd been about to open back into his duffel. Figures his little brother would have known about that. Waiting until he was sure Sam was in the shower, Dean pulled out his cell phone and stepped out the front door, hoping his dad would be stupid enough to pick up his own phone.

*~~*

Sam took what had to be the quickest shower of his life.

Partially because he didn't want to leave Dean alone for long, and partially because he had just realized that he was famished. He felt better than he had for days, though, clear-headed, and not nearly as tired as he had been. Even if their dad had bailed on them. In fact, he still had no idea why their dad had even shown up in the first place. It was something that he was going to have to get out of Dean, which was going to be like pulling teeth from a crocodile. If he wasn't careful, he'd be liable to lose his hand.

Dean was outside when Sam reappeared. Snatching up a cold-cut that had been left on the table the night before, he took a large bite, and moved towards the door where the duffels were packed so he could put away his tooth brush and shaving kit. Which was when he noticed his brother swearing profusely into his cell phone. Glancing out the window, and wondering why it was so easy to lip-read four letter words, Sam's stomach plummeted.

He had little doubt who Dean was talking too.

And the man deserved it after ripping the rug out from under him like that.

Sam had seen the note. Just a set of coordinates.

No, I'll see you soon. No, bye. No nothing. Just a set of coordinates that a quick internet search showed was for a place called Goobertown, Arizona.

Most dads gave their kids a pat on the back, a hi-five, or a hug when they left town. They at least had the decency to say goodbye.

Theirs did the next best thing. He gave them a job.

Wincing as he saw Dean rub a tired hand over his face, Sam made an executive decision. He was driving, Dean could sleep.

*~~*

Dean should have realized that there was an ulterior motive to Sam's insistence that he drive. Sam said it was so he could get some sleep. But how was he supposed to do that when there was some opera chick singing about who the heck wanted to live forever filling his poor baby?

Sam had said that Sarah whatsit would help him sleep…Bingman, Britman…whoever she was, she was slowly killing off the last of his brain cells, he was sure of it. Reaching over, Dean flicked the music off, earning a glare from Sam.

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

"I know how to drive, Dean."

"Yeah. Like the time you drove right into that garage door?"

"I think that a poltergeist had something to do with that," Sam snapped, nerves wearing thin. "And if you guys had listened to me when I said it was a malevolent spirit…"

The mere thought of their dad made them both drop off into silence again.

Dean hoped that this hunt was just a simple salt and burn, because the two of them were so out of sync, and so out of practice, right now, that anything else was liable to blow up in their faces. No thanks to their father of course.

John hadn't picked up the phone, no surprise there, but Dean had left him a few choice words anyway. And then he'd called Bobby, informed him that they were going on a hunt and not to expect them anytime soon. Luckily, Bobby hadn't pressed Dean about the fact that something was clearly bothering him, and so far, Sam hadn't started pushing that button yet. More likely because he wanted to survive the car ride than for any other reason.

Sam punched on the radio, filtering through the static filled channels before reaching a relatively clear country station. Dean tried to resist the urge to bang his head against the window, repeatedly, but settled for glaring at the sun instead. How dare it shine today. Noticing the concerned glances that his younger brother had started shooting him about five minutes ago, Dean worked quickly to keep his brother from initiating another chick flick moment.

"So, Goobertown, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, just glad to get some sort of reaction from his brother. "You know there's this town in Austria named Fucking…"

God, his brother was such a dork.

*~~*

Rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it.

Rule number one and a half…there is _never_ such a thing as a simple salt and burn.

If Dean hadn't been pissed at his dad before, he definitely was now. He had waltzed in, dropped a freakin' bomb in his sons' laps, and disappeared before it could go off.

Easy for their dad to say not to use their powers.

He wasn't the one with the avenging angels on his tail.

He wasn't the one that had to watch Sam nearly die, just because they'd gotten sloppy, careless, and rusty from years of not working together.

The hunt had seemed simple enough.

Sam had slid right into the research like it was some sort of second skin, and Dean had gone around hitting up, and on, the pretty ladies around town, seeing what they knew about the disappearing kids. They'd come to the same conclusion at roughly the same time, Sam calling Dean just as he'd been pulling out his cell phone to call Sam.

"Dean, I think I know who the spirit is…was."

"Yeah, I think I do too."

"There was this widow…"

"More like black widow," Dean had piped in, and then wondered at the sudden silence from the other end of the phone. "Sam, you still there?"

"How did you know I was going to say that, Dean?"

"Say what?"

"Black widow, I was going to compare her to a black widow."

"Hey, I'm not just good looks, Sam, I do have a brain too you know."

And then they'd blown it off.

Probably their first mistake.

So, it turned out that there was a woman, some number of years ago, who married multiple times but killed off each of her husbands. She only had one child, but it was rumored that he'd fallen down the steps and died before he turned ten. After that, she'd never had any more children and apparently had once said that if she couldn't have kids, then no one could. Dean wasn't feeling very forgiving of poor parents right now, so told Sam that they should light her up. Problem being, she'd died in a house fire. No body.

And the house fire brought up bad memories for Sam, which meant another round with the wings.

"We've got to go in tonight, Dean, before another kid disappears."

"Oh, and what, you're gonna waltz in like a freakin' fairy godmother?"

Sam just glared, before stomping off and plopping in front of his computer.

Dean sighed and absently ran his hand through his hair before dropping it uselessly to his side. "Sam…"

Sam looked up and could see the apology in Dean's eyes. Offering his older brother a weak grin, he settled his wings further against him and glanced back at the computer screen. Figured dad could blow their relationship to hell in less than 24 hours.

Dean turned away from Sam, peering out at the darkening sky. He couldn't help but glance back at his brother. While Dean's own raccoon eyes had faded days ago, Sam's had only gotten deeper as he slept less and less. _Are you even ready for this hunt, kiddo?_

Sam's head jerked up, eyes puzzled. Dean wasn't even looking at him. He probably wasn't supposed to hear his brother say that, so Sam figured it would be best to keep staring at the glowing screen. Besides, he was trying to figure out what object the spirit could possibly be attached to… _There isn't even anything left of the house, what could she possibly be holding onto…_

"Well, that's why we gotta look at that new warehouse they built on top of it."

"Huh?"

Dean turned from the window, wondering if Sam was losing his hearing on top of everything else too. Because life didn't suck enough. "You heard me, bird brain." _And again with the wing jokes,_ thought Sam.

"That's 'cause the wing jokes are funny."

Sam glanced up again, eyebrows creased in consternation. Dean wasn't paying any attention to him, though, instead digging through the weapons bag to check and make sure everything was ready. Maybe he'd been talking out loud when he thought he wasn't. It was something he'd done a lot when he was little, and it had usually landed him in a heap of trouble with Dean. Strangely, Dad had never managed to overhear him, and he figured that was probably one of the few reasons he made it through his childhood intact.

Distracted, Sam totally missed the flying t-shirt. It caught him off guard and smacked him right in the face, causing him to nearly jump ten feet in the air as his chair overturned and wings flared out. Pulling the long-sleeved black tee off the top of his head, Sam sent Dean a disdainful look. "A little warning next time would be appreciated. Jerk."

Holding up the shirt he noticed that two large slits were cut in the back. "Put that on, bitch," was Dean's only response, and Sam tried to hold back his grin. He knew that pouting would always get him his way. "And wipe off the puppy dog face, I'm gonna puke!"

Sam quickly pulled the shirt over his head, but it took him a little longer to figure out how to get the wings through the slits. "Uh, Dean? M'kinda stuck."

For a second, all Dean saw was a three year old that had put his jacket on backwards and ended up with the hood over the front of his face, bawling because he thought he'd gone blind. In an attempt to get the wings through the slits, Sam had somehow gotten his arm stuck through the head hole and the other one out one of the slits. His muffled voice was coming from somewhere inside as his wings fluttered nervously, most likely making it all the more cramped.

Pressing his lips together, hard, Dean sat on the end of the bed, trying to force down the giggle that was about to bust out. He couldn't help it, and a second later it bubbled forth, and then broke like a dam as he flopped onto his back holding his stomach tight.

"Deeaann…" Sam whined. "C'mon, man…"

"Oh, God, Sammy…" Dean wiped at his eyes and doubled over again as his brother walked right into the end of the bed, following the sounds of Dean's laughter, and fell over bouncing helplessly on the mattress.

This started a fresh round of laughing and whining, with Dean mumbling, "It hurts…" and clutching at his stomach. Sam tried, and failed to sit up, all while informing Dean what a horrible brother he was.

Eventually, red faced, Dean reached over and worked the shirt off of Sam, pulling it back over his head and slipping the wings through the pre-made slits before the younger Winchester even registered what was going on. Dean couldn't help the quirk on the edge of his lips at the look on his miserable brother's face, and he set off into another round of silent laughter when Sam stormed off to the bathroom.

By the time Sam returned, dusk had fallen and Dean had managed to compose himself. He had the weapons selection laid out on the bed and tossed the leather jacket towards his brother. "Put this on, it'll hide the bulk. Once we're out of sight you can take it off, cause they'll blend in with the shirt from far away."

"Yeah, now everyone will just think I'm Quasimodo."

"Start singing, and I will lock you in a bell tower," was Dean's only response as they repacked the duffel and headed towards the car.

It was supposed to be mostly a recon mission, and if they happened to run into the spirit, then they would be prepared. The real reason they were going, though, was to try to figure out what the spirit could possibly be attached to.

Their second mistake, was splitting up.

"You check the upstairs, I'll poke around down here."

Sam looked up at the catwalk and glanced at Dean. He thought about ribbing his brother about fear of flying and heights, but enjoying the hard won look of ease on Dean's face, decided against it. "Sure thing, Dean."

Dean watched as the tall figure disappeared around a stack of crates, looking for the stairs that would bring him up to the iron walkway. He smiled as he saw his brother's wings flex experimentally, and then settle, glad to be released from the leather jacket that had imprisoned them. As soon as Sam's head disappeared, Dean turned in the other direction, intent on finding something to burn so they could end this hunt.

In the distance, he could hear Sammy clamoring up the stairs, and he wondered if the kid was just trying to make as much noise as possible, or if it was because the warehouse was ridiculously quiet. He moved down another isle of boxes, flashlight moving flippantly around as he waved it randomly to the left and right.

A sudden chill went up his spine and he turned quickly, sawed off loaded with rock salt at the ready, but there was nothing there and Dean blamed it on the cold November night air.

Glancing upwards, he could see Sam across the warehouse, flashlight bobbing as he moved slowly over the catwalk, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Which, apparently, there wasn't.

The third mistake was just the fact that they'd become too complacent. When your whole life is full of the unexpected, why would you really be expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen?

Truth was, things went downhill pretty fast.

One second Dean was turning the corner into another long row of boxes, and the next he was looking directly at a young boy. Thinking it was one of the kids that had disappeared, Dean knelt down and held out his hand.

"Hey, buddy," he said softly, keeping his tone even. "I'm here to help. I'm gonna get you out of here…"

The kid was pale, like he'd been locked up too long, and the dark bags under his eyes made Dean immediately think of Sam. Until he flickered out, reappearing inches away from Dean's face. Sam didn't do that.

_Shit! Sam!_ was Dean's first thought. They had been wrong. It wasn't the woman. It was her son.

He didn't realize that his unconscious exclamation was heard clear across the warehouse. Dean didn't see Sam stop on the precarious catwalk, and turn to look towards the small figure of his brother down on the ground. His intense concentration was what drew the boy's attention, causing the next set of events.

The kid disappeared again and there was a loud cracking sound, followed by the screech of metal against a concrete wall. Dean turned, eyes widening as it caught the figure of his falling brother. He was running, he'd never be fast enough to catch Sam, but he had to, he had to…

"SAM!"

His brother was unconscious, he had to be the way he was plummeting, back towards the ground, wings hanging limp…

"SAM!"

Another burst of speed, there was a strange twinge from his back and then…

"I gotchya, kiddo, I've gotchya." He cradled Sam closer, noticing the blood already clotting on his forehead. Sam must've gotten smacked by the collapsing catwalk when that stupid spirit tore it down…

There was a cool breeze, and Dean found that odd, because they were in the middle of a warehouse, but he ignored it, instead focusing on his more pressing concern, his brother. "C'mon, Sam, time to get up."

Sam moaned and turned a little in his arms, eyes opening and closing several times before he seemed to finally be able to keep the open for good. And then they were as wide as saucers, and Sam was scrabbling to get a tighter hold on his older brother. "Shit, Sammy, calm down, just take it easy…what's wrong?"

Sam just looked down, and then back at Dean, before glancing down again.

Following his gaze, Dean suddenly understood his brother's panic.

They were floating a good five feet off the ground.

Dean's own panic rose and the breeze stopped, both boys plummeting the remaining few feet to the ground.

Sam saw the blank look on Dean's face and realized that his brother had frozen in shock. Rolling in midair, not enough time to recover, Sam positioned himself so he was on the bottom of the two of them, grappling until Dean was above him, seconds later striking the ground as the air was crushed from his lungs and searing pain ripped through…He wasn't sure what it ripped through, but God, it hurt…

Dean landed on top of Sam, and momentarily both stunned and winded, didn't realize something was wrong until a soft moan came from under him. Rolling off his brother, Dean pushed himself upright on shaking arms, struggling to take a deep breath. "Sammy…you…okay?"

That's when he noticed how pale Sam looked, the cut on his head reopened and slowly dribbling blood. His eyes were screwed shut, and his breaths were short, drawn through his nose, like he was trying to push back the pain. It was a technique Dean had tried on occasion, but it usually ended up with him biting through his lip.

"Sam…"

He was distracted as the temperature plummeted. Scanning the wreckage, and thanking the powers that be that they hadn't landed on the twisted metal, Dean spied Sam's abandoned gun. Glancing at Sam, who had yet to respond, Dean realized he needed to do something quick, before that little brat showed up again.

Dean dove, hand wrapping around the cool double barrel, and twisted as he slid across the floor. His eyes caught the sight of the small boy bending over Sam, who still hadn't seemed to notice the spectral figure, and Dean fired, breathing a sigh of relief as the child dissipated. "Sam!" he called, hurrying to kneel by his downed brother's side, ignoring the pull of abused muscles.

His wings flared out, sheltering both of them as Dean attempted to assess what exactly was wrong with his baby brother. "Dean," word held more pain then one big brother could deal with.

"You betchya, Sammy," Dean said, glad when Sam's eyes opened. Reaching into his pants pocket, Dean pulled out a small penlight, glad to see both pupils respond.

"Get that out of my face, Dean," Sam muttered, turning his head and gasping as it pulled.

"What did you hurt, Sam?"

"M'not sure…Dean!"

Dean swiveled, the face over his shoulder wavering and disappearing. He pulled the last of the rock salt bullets from his pockets, reloading the shotgun. Sam was pushing himself up behind Dean, ignoring the vertigo that overtook him . "We gotta get out of here, Sammy. We'll have to finish this job later."

Dean turned towards his brother, attempting to gauge whether Sam could make it out under his own steam or not, when something whizzed by his head, shattering against the wall behind them. Dean swiveled just as another hunk of concrete flew by, nearly catching the side of his face. "Stupid kid," Dean muttered, searching for the ghost.

The room tilted suddenly on Sam, and he pitched forward, head finding Dean's shoulder. "Easy," Dean whispered, eyes still canvassing the room. "Just take it easy, Sam…"

Out of nowhere, a bright light appeared, a middle-aged woman materializing. "Crap," Dean muttered. They were screwed.

But the woman didn't even acknowledge the two boys huddled on the ground. Instead she turned towards the child, arms on her hips.

"Jacob…" she hissed, and a shudder traveled down Dean's spine. Her voice was like ice. "Jacob, you've been a naughty boy…"

The child glared angrily at the woman. "You hurt me!"

"I had to, Jacob. You were hurting all those people…"

"I didn't want a new daddy! So I got rid of them!"

Oh, had they gotten this one wrong. Good thing their dad wasn't here to see this.

"Jacob."

"YOU KILLED ME!"

Suddenly the two figures rushed at each other, and where they met, flames ignited, quickly engulfing the dry boxes and crates.

"Sam, we've got to move," Dean warned, pulling his brother to a standing position, no longer having time to take stock of his brother's injuries. "C'mon, kid, let's go!"

Dean tugged hard and Sam stumbled behind him, biting at his lip to keep back the moan. They cleared the threshold and made it all the way to the Impala before Sam dropped to his hands and knees, a grunt of pain the only acknowledgement of the gravel that suddenly bit into his skin.

In the light of the raging fire, Dean suddenly understood what was wrong.

The orange glow caught glistening blood and matted feathers of what could only be Sam's misshapen wings.

**A/N: Okay, okay, you've caught me. I like to torture the boys! I confess! Ohh…what are those handcuffs for…**

**Well, while I'm running from the FBI, feel free to leave me a review. Or a flame. So I can put it in my flame thrower to get rid of the guys on my tail…**

**Much love.**


	10. One Thing Leads to Another

**A/N: Welcome to Chapter Nine. Once again, I want to thank all you wonderful reviewers. This is a chapter for Sam--I think he needs a chance to get in on the action, don't you? Hope you all enjoy. This chapter title is taken from the Fixx.**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Nine: One Thing Leads to Another**

It had taken hours for Dean to straighten out the tiny broken bones.

He'd given Sammy a few painkillers, knowing that they wouldn't do anything, and was relieved when Sam passed out on the bed, leaving Dean to his work. That didn't stop Dean from running his mouth.

"When someone tells you to go jump off a bridge, Sammy, you aren't supposed to do it…" He winced as he carefully manipulated the tiny bones in the left wing.

"You know, now I've got that song by Mr. Mister stuck in my head…"

Carefully he washed the bloody feathers, their dark color making it hard for him to find the tear, until he discovered a tiny piece of white bone protruding from the soft down.

"You know, kiddo, you never do anything half way…"

Sam was, luckily, too far gone to hear any of Dean's crazy one-sided conversation.

As Dean began carefully wrapping both wings in thick gauze, he also began explaining to Sam the difference between cuddling and male bonding, informing his brother that he had never once cuddled in his life, but that male bonding rituals were some sort of evolutionary advantage…

Once the wings were both well padded, Dean folded them against Sam's back, wrapping the gauze around both Sam's wings and his chest, binding them close, just as he would have if Sam had broken his ribs. "I don't think your wings will be goin' anywhere for a while, Sam." Dean sighed. "You really are gonna look like Quasimodo."

Apparently, Sam still had nothing to say to him.

It didn't matter, Dean continued wasting his breath throughout the night, unwilling to sleep until he was sure that his brother would wake.

*~~*

It took them over a week to reach Bobby's.

Sam couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes before the pain became unbearable, and he couldn't lean back in the seat, making the car a miserable affair for all involved. He wore the leather jacket everywhere now, and since it was ill-fitting to begin with, the lumps in the back were hardly noticeable.

Dean made sure he pulled over to the side of the road every twenty minutes, letting Sam stretch and move around for at least five minutes before encasing him in the Impala for another twenty minutes of torture. They barely managed to drive three hours the first day, Sam's watery eyes prompting Dean to find a motel room before it was even lunch time. Besides, he was still rather sore from the fall, and so Dean made sure he heaped the blame for the stop on himself, not wanting Sam to feel any guiltier than he already did.

The pain seemed to keep Sam from sleeping after that first night as well. It meant no crazy dreams, but it also meant one totally irritating little brother who was so doped up on coffee and pain meds that Dean was contemplating knocking him out after 48 hours.

"Deeeaann…"

For his part, Dean managed to do nothing more than clench white knuckled fingers even tighter to the steering wheel. "Yeah, Sam?"

Sam's mischievous smile lit up his side of the car as he enquired, "Are we there yet?"

Dean's right hand tightened for a second as he nearly gave into the impulse to sock his brother. Instead he said nothing and cranked up Led Zeppelin.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, trying to lean far enough forward to keep his mummified wings from touching anything. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep, because he hurt. A lot. And he was kinda irritated that Dean could sleep, which meant there was only one way to fix this…

"D…"

"Don't you 'Dean' me, Sammy."

Irritating his older brother.

"This music is making my wings throb…"

Dean shot him a skeptical look.

"Can we put on something else?"

Dean seemed to think about it for a second, and then added a suggestion of his own. "How about we play a game."

Curiosity peaked, Sam was silently hoping for a game of punch buggy, he nodded.

"Good, we're playing the quiet game, first one to talk loses. Go."

Road trips sucked.

*~~*

They were only a few hours out from Bobby's when Sam had his second mental breakdown and Dean nearly had one of his own. Dean had suspected that this one was coming for awhile, but unsure how to stop it, he'd dropped a couple of allergy pills into Sam's coffee, hoping that his brother would just conk out for the rest of the trip and Dean wouldn't have to have the obviously painful conversation.

Apparently, though, painkillers and anti-histamines didn't mix well in Sam's system and now his teary-eyed brother, who probably had no idea what he was saying, was apologizing profusely for their dad leaving again, convinced it was his fault because Dad hated him. And he wasn't letting anyone tell him otherwise.

"S'm'fult…"

"No, Sammy, it isn't your fault that Dad is an ass." Dean suddenly regretted drugging his brother.

"De…you m'd at S'mmy?"

"No, Dean isn't mad at Sammy, kiddo. Dean's mad at Daddy."

"Gooodd…" Sam slurred, eyes closing and head thumping against the window.

"D'n?"

Dean glanced over at his brother, noting the glazed eyes and suddenly worrying at the two bright spots on Sam's cheeks. Was his brother running a fever? "Yeah, Sam?"

"S'mmy wanna fly tooooo…"

"That's kinda a no-no right now, buddy. Your wings are definitely out of commission for awhile."

"Wanna fly like Deanie…" he started humming to himself and Dean took this to be the end of the conversation. Which was a good thing, because he definitely needed to be looking at the road when something large decided to dash right across it.

The asphalt was still wet from an earlier storm, so the Impala fishtailed when Dean stomped on the breaks. He turned to ask Sam what the heck he thought it was that had tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a moving vehicle, when he noticed the loud snores emanating from the passenger seat. Sam was definitely down for the count. "Looks like it's just me," Dean muttered, pulling the car safely to the side of the road and flicking on the hazard lights. "Stay put," he pointed a finger at his comatose brother before sliding out the door and heading to the trunk, because it never boded well to go out unprotected. Better safe than sorry. Even if it was just some overgrown dog that had jumped across the road.

"Right," Dean adjusted his grip on the shotgun, making sure he had at least one extra clip in his pocket. "I'll be right back, baby." Patting the trunk lovingly, Dean dashed to the other side of the street, intent on figuring out what exactly had decided to play chicken with Dean.

*~~*

"Dean…no…don't…"

_Everyone knew better to go into the woods by themselves, especially when it was getting dark out, why didn't Dean wake him up? Why did he have to poke his nose into something that was none of his business…_

_Sam followed his brother, watching as he poked around the woods, could see when Dean found the trail of broken shrubbery, recognized human footprints…_

_Could see the blood glistening on one of the green leaves…_

"Dean…no…"

_Dean bent down, examining the blood. It was clearly fresh. _

"_Hello? Is anyone here? Are you okay?" _

Sam tossed in his seat, begging his brother not to go into the woods alone. But his brother was already gone…

_A wisp of a figure stepped from the shadows. She couldn't have been much more than sixteen or seventeen. Long blonde hair, pale skin, right up there with one of Dean's busty babes…_

_She looked at Dean suddenly, eyes tilting up from beneath long bangs, and it was her eyes that gave her away. They were eyes that had seen too much, been alive too long. Sam didn't need the fangs to descend to know what she was. _

_Dean had his gun up, but it wouldn't be enough, and the Impala held his machete, secure in the trunk, too far away to save him…_

Sam fell backwards in the seat, crushed wings pressing against leather and ripping a hoarse cry from his throat, but it was enough to drag him back into consciousness.

His eyes darted around frantically, noting the darkening sky, the empty car, and the steady ticking of hazard lights. Sam knew, without a doubt, that his brother was alone in the woods with a vampire. Diving for the door, Sam fumbled with the handle, ripping it open, and not bothering to close it as he dashed across the empty road.

He resisted the urge to call out for his brother, instead following the same path he'd already seen in his head, fearing that he may tip the vampire off. The foliage blurred into browns, reds, and oranges, but as he heard a gunshot ring out, Sam feared that he was too late.

Breaking into the clearing, Sam tried to focus on the sight in front of him, but his vision was blurry and his head was pounding. He could barely make out the pale figure, but could tell that it was bending over a prone body, gun out of reach of his brother's grasping hand.

Looking back, Sam would tell Dean that he honestly had no idea what happened. But Dean could remember the moment with perfect clarity.

One second, he was about to become dinner, breakfast, something, to a bloodthirsty vampire. He could remember the gun being knocked from his grasp, his wings rupturing in what must have been a self-defense mechanism. He stumbled, falling to the ground, and his fingers strained to recover the only weapon he had available, even if it was useless…

And then a headless body was on top of him, warm blood spurting across his chest and running down his arm, as Sam stood above him, flaming sword in hand.

His initial thought was to note the fact that Sam was clearly no longer stoned.

His second was the fact that his brother was clearly swaying, and liable to drop that fiery thing on him any second. And Dean wasn't really interested in becoming a flaming shish kabob.

The third was that this headless vampire was really heavy.

Sammy's knees gave out, and Dean dove to catch him, no longer thinking of his well being as the lifeless body rolled off him and dropped heavily to the ground. Bloody hands reached out to steady a wobbly little brother, much like he had when Sam was learning to walk, and the sword fell from numb fingers, fire suddenly out.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam was breathless, eyes trying to figure out where all that blood on his brother was coming from.

"I'm good, kid, how about you?"

"M'head hurts," he said quietly, pitching forward onto Dean's shoulder, "A lot…" Sam took a shaky breath and then pushed back. "M'okay, though…the blood?"

"Not mine, the vamp's. You ahh…did a good job, Sam." _Don't know what the hell you did, but you did a good job._

"I don't know what I did either, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then decided that now wasn't the time to ask Sam if he could read minds. Instead, he clapped Sam on the shoulders and pulled him up to a standing position. "How 'bout you help me torch this sucker, and then we get to Bobby's?"

Sam nodded, patting his pockets for the spare matchbook he generally kept on him, but Dean already had his lighter out. No gasoline made it hard to burn the body, but Dean managed to pile enough dry brush around that the corpse eventually caught alight. Luckily, the ground was still wet enough that it didn't catch the entire forest on fire. The last thing that they needed was the spirit of Smokey the Bear coming after them.

The two brothers stood side by side, elbows touching, and watched as the flames died down. Eventually, Dean nudged Sam and Sam nudged him back, both turning towards the car until Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "Uh, dude, aren't you forgetting something?"

Sam glanced at the lifeless metal on the ground and pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

"Look, I'm not the one that pulled a flaming sword out of my ass, so I'm not hauling it back to the car. We'll bring it to Bobby, maybe he'll know what it is…and how it works…"

"But what if it lights up when we're in the car?"

"Dude, it isn't a lightsaber or a chain smoker, and I hate to say it, but you're no Luke Skywalker." Dean seemed to think for a minute, and then conceded. "Let's not put it in the trunk…just in case."

They wrapped the sword up in a couple of their ruined t-shirts, carefully placing it in the backseat, as far away from any accelerant as they could. Dean glanced nervously at it every once and awhile, waiting for it to ignite his poor baby. Sam, on the other hand, finally gave into a week's worth of exhaustion, and curled up against the window, the curve of his back facing Dean, broken wings causing the position to look even more misshapen and uncomfortable than usual.

As soon as the Impala's tires hit gravel, Sam stirred, rubbing at his eyes to clear the sleep as they pulled up into Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard. The dog on the porch thumped it's tail welcomingly, and Dean smiled. "Some guard dog that is," he muttered, "You get…that thing, and I'll grab the duffels."

Bobby was at the door now, gun in hand as he waited for the Winchesters to make their way up to the house. "Took you to idjits long enough, you take a left turn at Albuquerque?"

"I wish," Sam complained, straightening with the sword, and wincing as it pulled at his abused wings.

They made their way into the house, Dean proceeding right to the study where he dropped the duffels on the floor. Sam followed him, looking around uncertainly for a place to stick the wrapped bundle. Bobby appeared a second later, three cups of coffee and a box of donuts balanced on a tray, which he placed on a scuffed coffee table.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, snatching up one of the cups and dropping like a stone onto the couch, making the springs protest. He took a long guzzle, draining half the mug, and sighed in satisfaction.

"So, I'm guessin' you boys have a story?"

Bobby eyed Sam as he gingerly sat, still holding the bundle.

"Put it down, Sam, I doubt it'll spontaneously combust."

"You don't know that, Dean." But Sam put it down anyway, and shrugged out of the leather jacket, revealing the mummified chest.

"Damn, boy, what happened to you?"

Sam reached for his own coffee, suppressing another wince, and then grinned. "Dean dropped me."

Dean paused, a powdered donut half-way to his mouth. Indignantly, he dropped the donut back on the tray and turned towards his brother. "I did not drop you!"

Sam glanced at Dean, and back at Bobby, reaching for Dean's discarded donut. "He did, I'm just glad I didn't land on my head like last time."

"I was seven, Sam!"

"You still dropped me."

Dean opened his mouth, huffed, and then saw the half-eaten donut in Sam's hand. "That was mine!"

"Nowismine," Sam mumbled, his mouth full.

"Boys," Bobby warned. "I'm not too old to put you both over my knee."

"You wouldn't," Dean didn't look convinced, though.

"Don't test me, boy. Now, you want to tell me why it took you over two weeks to get here?"

Sam swallowed the rest of his donut, and turned to look at Dean, wiping powdery fingers on his jeans. They hadn't discussed whether or not to bring up their dad, but a slight nod from Dean was all the answer Sam needed. "Dad showed up."

"We talked about that already, Sam. He left his journal in your room."

"Yeah, and then he showed up. In the flesh."

The boys switched on and off in the story telling, filling in the gaps that the other didn't remember or wasn't there for.

"I didn't drop him, Bobby. My wings cramped up."

Sam snorted, but didn't say anything.

"Sam was a big baby so we had to stop the car every five minutes…"

"Excuse me, who decided to take off after a vampire without any backup?"

"A vampire? Boys?"

So Bobby listened as the boys debated about who was the bigger fool. The fool, or the one who followed him into the dark woods with no weapon and then suddenly pulled a flaming sword from thin air.

He spent the next forty-five minutes studying the sword, noting the strange sigils that were carved into the hilt. "I'm going to need to research these…are you boys sure it was on fire?"

"Here, let me try something."

Dean snatched up the sword and held it high. "FLAME ON!"

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. Though it did earn a raised eyebrow from Sam and a look that clearly informed Dean that something had to be wrong with him from Bobby.

Dean just shrugged. "Figured it was worth a shot."

"Moron," Bobby mumbled, heading back for the kitchen. "I'm going to bed. You boys make yourselves at home."

Dean made Sam take the couch, saying that his wings weren't going to be healed for weeks, and sleeping on the floor wasn't going to help.

Just as Dean was about to drop off he heard Sam.

"So this doesn't count as crazy powers, right?"

"I guess not, since no one in flowing robes showed up."

Dean paused, a sudden thought flaring in his mind. "In the woods, how did you know where I was, Sam?"

Apparently, Sam had fallen asleep, because Dean didn't get an answer.

Not long after, Dean dropped off too.

**A/N: And here I must leave you. For now. Let me know what you think. As of right now, I'm probably not going to be able to update tomorrow, just to give you an advance warning. Right, so, reviews are good…Flames…will be used to light my new sword!**

**Peace out.**


	11. Dead Man's Party

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait guys. I can't promise when the next chapter will be up. I'm moving, again, and don't have much time for anything right now. I'm not going to abandon this though, so don't worry about that. Thanks for sticking with me! This chapter title is taken from Oingo-Boingo.**

**P.S. I thought I was being a little rough on the boys, so they get a physical break in this chapter…though not much of an emotional one…**

**Enjoy!**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Ten: Dead Man's Party**

Sam could count on one hand the number of times that Dean had truly pissed him off. Normally, that was their father's forte, and he would need more than his and Dean's appendages combined to count the number of times John had managed to do it. But currently, Dean was treading in dangerous water, and Sam had a feeling that his one-handed counting was going to have to move onto two.

They had been at Bobby's nearly a week, and Dean was clearly bored out of his mind. Still, Bobby was insisting that Sam's wings would need at least another week to heal, and that they shouldn't head out until then. That, and they still had no idea where the sword had come from.

To top it off, Sam felt that Dean was inherently jealous of Sam's flaming sword, and Dean's off-handed "you should get that burning checked out, could be something serious" was starting to get on his last nerve.

Almost an entire month of close quarters with Dean was enough to push any sane person over the edge, and one that had already been balanced on said edge…Sam was lucky to have held on this long. He was traipsing back from getting the mail when Dean's last offense occurred.

Snow had fallen the night before, an unexpected cold snap drenching the salvage yard in white. Sam shrugged his jacket up higher, blocking the cold wind from racing across the back of his neck only to feel something hard and cold splatter across the side of his face.

Turning, Sam caught Dean's mile-wide grin. "Hey, look, a snow angel!"

And Sam snapped. The mail fell into the drift as he took off on long legs, tackling his brother to the ground. Dean, who clearly had not been expecting the charge, collapsed backwards, snow managing to make it into his pants and down his shirt. "Whose the freakin' angel now, Dean?"

"Jeez, Sam," he griped, noticing the anger in his younger brother's eyes. Suddenly concerned, Dean lifted one leg and wrapped it tightly around Sam, efficiently flipping his off balance younger brother.

"Get off me, Dean!" he snapped, rocking back and forth, but unable to get out from under Dean's grip.

Dean tightened his hold, pressing Sam into the snow. "Take it easy, kiddo. Just take it easy. Okay?"

Sam stiffened, and then suddenly relaxed, his entire face crumpling. "M'sorry," he muttered.

"Sorry? What for, I'm the one that pelted you with the snow ball. You overreacted a little bit, heck, you over reacted a lot but…" Dean saw the guilt flash through the hazel eyes. "Sam…" he warned.

"Get off me."

"No, we're not going anywhere until you tell me what the heck you're apologizing for."

"Dean," Sam pulled the puppy dog eyes. "I'm cold, and I have a headache. Please, get off me."

"Mmm…No."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam shoved hard, but Dean barely moved, clearly determined to stay where he was. "Just let me up, man."

"I'll sit out here in the subzero weather all day, Sam. But I'm not moving until you tell me what the heck is going on. You've been cagey all week, Sam."

"You came to me for help, Dean! I didn't come for you! I was just fine!"

Dean's face closed off immediately as he pulled back, jumping up and brushing the snow off his pants before stomping into the house, leaving Sam and the pile of wet mail stranded out in the snow. He returned a second later, car keys in hand, ignoring both his brother and the mail, jumping into the car and roaring out of the salvage yard.

Bobby appeared in short order, and sighing, bent down to help Sam gather the mail. "What did you do, Sam?"

"I didn't mean it, Bobby," was his only response as he slipped silently into the house.

Dean came back hours later, smelling like stale beer and cigarettes, though he didn't appear to have consumed any alcohol himself. Sam had already gone off to bed, telling Bobby he had a headache and thought sleep might help, though Bobby knew he just didn't really want to see his brother.

He had no choice, because Dean tripped right over his brother in the dark on his way to the couch. "Shit, Sam!" he hissed, rubbing his head where he'd smacked it off the end table.

"M'sorry, Dean." Sam sat up suddenly. "I didn't mean it. I'm just so scared I'm going to lose you."

Dean stopped rubbing vigorously at his head, turning to stare at his brother instead. "Woah, woah, where did that come from?"

Sam shrugged.

"Oh, no. You can't just blindside me and then drop it. What's going on in the freaky head of yours? Sam?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"That's just it, Dean, I don't know!" Sam yelled, standing suddenly. "We're angel things, I've got some demon on my tail, we've both got heaven's hosts after us, and flaming swords, and crazy powers. I mean, at least you get to throw people around with your mind, you don't have to…."

Sam turned, heading towards the kitchen, Dean hot on his heels.

"Have to what, Sam?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything," he muttered, opening the cabinets at random.

"Sam…Have to what?"

Sam stood, hand halfway to a glass and trembling hard._ Dean doesn't have to know. He doesn't have to know. If Dean doesn't know, it's one less thing that he'll have to worry about._

"What don't you want me to worry about Sam?" Dean pushed himself in front of his brother, crossing his arms and refusing to budge. "Not worry about you? Sorry, kiddo, it's my job to worry about you." _Just like you worry about me._

"I am worried about you Dean…" _That's why I can't tell you._

"Sam. Just because you're worried about me doesn't mean you can't talk to me."

Sam looked at him, confused. "Are you reading my mind?"

"Huh?" _What!? No!_

"There's no reason to snap," Sam sighed, pushing so his back was leaning up against the counter. _It's not like you're seeing people die._

"Die!? Sam?"

"You are reading my mind!"

"You're seeing people die!?" _Holy shit, holy shit…_

"Get out of my head, and quit swearing!"

"I'm not…you get out of my head!" _Bitch._

"I'm not in your head, you jerk!"

"What is all this yelling about," Bobby interjected, poking his head into the kitchen.

"Tell him to stay out of my head!" both boys hollered simultaneously, pointing angrily at the other.

"Oh, good Lord," Bobby muttered. "I'm going to bed."

"But Bobby…" Sam.

"It's his fault…" Dean.

"Goodnight, boys!" he tossed over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to escape all things Winchester.

Dean rounded on his brother. "Couch, now!" he snapped, thrusting his finger angrily at the door.

Glaring, Sam marched off. _Friggin' jerk._

_I heard that, Bitch._

_Get the hell out of my head, Dean!_

_Then stay out of mine!_

Sam sat on the couch, sulking in the dark, arms crossed as he pressed himself as far back into the cushions as he could, listening to the sound of clinking cutlery as Dean stomped around the kitchen. He appeared a few moments later, and both of them were considerably calmer as Dean offered Sam a coffee cup, liberally topping it off with Jack Daniels, before filling his own with more alcohol than coffee.

"I'm sorry," Sam said suddenly. "I should have told you…but I just didn't want you to have to deal with anything else."

"Sam," Dean sighed, he hated chick flick moments. "You aren't something for me to deal with. You're my brother."

"I know that," Sam said quietly. "But sometimes I think you forget that I'm your brother too."

"No," Dean hedged. "I don't forget that you're my brother. I just forget that you're an adult. That you aren't ten anymore. That you don't need me to kiss your scrapes and make them better. That you're perfectly capable of picking up the pieces all on your own."

Carefully, Sam set down his untouched coffee and reached out to touch his brother's forearm. "Just because I don't think I need you to fix my problems, Dean, doesn't mean I don't want you to."

Dean just looked away, and Sam's hand dropped back to his side. "I know that I'm not okay, Dean. But you aren't either, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than you've already been hurt." _Because Dad, and God, and Hell have been so good at doing that…_

"You aren't going to hurt me, Sam. Contrary to what you believe, helping you…that helps me." Dean turned, green eyes boring into Sam's. "So tell me, honestly, what is going on, so maybe we can help each other. Now isn't the time to be keeping secrets, Sam."

Sam nodded once, tightly, and then cleared his throat. "I saw Jess die."

"You've been having nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No." His voice was raw. "I saw it before it happened." The only response from Dean was stunned silence.

"I saw you get killed by that vampire…and I keep having visions about you and me, and dad. And I'm afraid…" _That they're gonna come true. That you're gonna die._

"I need another drink," Dean whispered hoarsely, draining his mug and then liberally pouring the Jack. "So, these…visions?" Sam nodded. "These visions…when do you get them?"

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes when I'm asleep. Sometimes when I'm awake."

"So there's no…" _Set time?_

"No, Dean." _It's not like it's a freakin' doctor's appointment._

"Well, I didn't think it was a doctor's appointment, Sam."

"You're in my head again!"

Dean sighed. "Look. Let's deal with the visions of imminent doom first, and then we'll talk about privacy invasion."

"I don't know how the visions work, Dean. My head feels like it's going to explode, and then I just see stuff. Sometimes it comes true then…like with the vampire. Except I stopped that. And others…I've been having the vision with all of us since you came back. Before that, there was one with wings and flaming swords…and the one of Jess."

"So…you think you could see the lottery numbers?"

"Dean!" Sam huffed, reaching over and pushing at his brother, trying not to grin.

"Aww…c'mon, Sam. Think of all the money we could make!"

And just like that, all was forgiven.

*~~*

Bobby spent the next day researching psychic powers, while Sam and Dean played hide-and-seek.

_Can you hear me now?_

_I'm not going to tell you where I am._

_How about now?_

Sam poked around the salvage yard, looking for his brother, who had decided that this was a good way to test the range of their apparent link. _How about…hey, your car is gone! You cheated!_

_We were testing to see what our range is._

_Yeah, in the yard!_

_I got hungry._

Sam huffed, stomping out to the house.

_You want me to bring home some pie. Sam? Sam?!_

_Don't yell in my head Dean, I can hear you fine, and no I don't want pie. _He paused, thinking. _But a milkshake would be nice._

Sam just got some vague thought in response, and sighing, he went to help Bobby with the research.

"Where's your brother?"

"My guess is two towns over eating banana cream."

"So, he ditched?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam smiled. "You got anything for me to do?"

Bobby gestured to the large stack of books, "Help yourself."

"Not quite pie," muttered Sam, snatching one of the tomes. "But I'll take this over pie any day."

Bobby snorted. "I'd take the pie."

And then there was nothing but silence.

And the AC/DC song that Sam couldn't quite seem to get out of his head…

_Dean stop singing!_

There was nothing and then a quiet, _Sorry. _It was quickly followed with the A-Team theme song. He should have quit while he was ahead.

Sadly, it took Sam nearly twenty minutes before he realized that he too could irritate Dean in the same manor.

Nothing a little Celine Dion wouldn't fix.

_Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that…_

_Oh, God, Sam, stop! Please, I'm sorry, okay?_

_My heart will go ooooonnnnnnn…._

_SAAAMMM!!!_

Sam winced and Bobby looked up questioningly. "Dean doesn't like Celine," was all he said, as if that would explain everything.

Bobby opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and then shook his head, opting to just not get involved.

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, and Bobby knew the silence was too good to be true. "So, uhh, why do you think I have a sword and Dean doesn't?"

"Does Dean need a sword?"

"Uh…no."

"Then that's why Dean doesn't have a sword. Next time he needs to decapitate something to save his brother's life, he'll probably get one too." Bobby paused. "And according to him, it'll be the bigger one."

"Yeah, well don't give him any ideas. He'll be thrusting me into dangerous situations just to see if he can get something that burns too."

"He does have a small thing for fire…" Bobby conceded, flipping the page of his book and pausing.

He scanned the page, once, and then again, before clearing his throat nervously.

"What is it? Bobby?"

"Nothin'," he muttered. "Gotta make a phone call."

Sam watched as the older man stood quickly, book dropping to the ground, and hustled off towards the kitchen and out the door. Curious, Sam picked the book up, flipping through the soiled pages, trying to identify what page Bobby had been on when he had the sudden urge to make a social call.

A strange picture caught his eye. It must have once been a charcoal sketch, copied and reprinted into the leather bound volume. A shadowy figure stood in sharp relief, hand held out over a bundle at his feet. From the bundle poked one tiny fist, and from the hand, a lazy drop of something made it's way down…

Sam scanned the rest of the page pulling out specific words, the rest blurring into an incoherent blob. The word _demon_ stood out, followed quickly by _blood, infant, six months, _and perhaps most prominently, _psychic powers_. The book fell from limp fingers, and he stood up on numb legs, stumbling towards the kitchen, trying to find Bobby.

A whispered conversation carried through the window, and Sam froze, falling hard against the doorframe and sliding to the ground when it couldn't support his weight.

"Are you saying that you knew the demon bled into Sam?" Bobby sounded mad. More mad then Sam had ever heard him, and for some reason, he had a desperate urge to hide and not be found.

_Sam…_

"Damn it, John, you idjit!"

_Sammy!_

His wings flexed in their bindings, and then pushed hard, ripping through the gauze and his t-shirt, wrapping protectively around him, hiding Sam where no one could get him.

"You realize what this means? What this will do to those boys?"

Vaguely, Sam wondered why their dad would pick up the phone for Bobby and not for them.

_Sam, answer me!_

"The demon is only half the problem, John. You forgot about the avenging angels."

Sam huddled closer to the wall. He didn't want angels and demons, he didn't want wayward fathers. He wanted his brother. He wanted his girlfriend. He wanted his family. And he wanted to be left the hell alone.

_Sammy, I'm comin', just hang on._

"You should be here for them, John….I know you think you're doing what's right by hunting down the demon…but when did this stop being about your family's safety and start being some crusade for your own selfish revenge?"

_Sam, I'm comin' to get you kiddo. I'm comin'…_

Finally, the voice penetrated.

_Dean…_

It was barely more than a whisper, but Sam felt the sudden relief flow from his brother and through him like a tidal wave.

_Hey, buddy. What__'s going on?_

Sam's arms locked tightly around his knees, and he pressed his forehead into his jeans, as if the pressure could make everything go away.

_Sam, don't shut me out. Sam. I'm almost back._

Sam could hear the rumble of the engine, hear the tires on the gravel, heard Bobby's startled yell as Dean flew past him, and heard the skidding of wet boots on the tile floor before a warm body thumped down beside him.

Something poked at his wings, and then Dean's fingers appeared, gently spreading feathers apart. His eyes peeked between the gap, and then his entire head appeared. "You wanna tell me why I just broke light speed to get here?"

"Why don't you ask Bobby, or Dad," Sam mumbled sullenly. "Apparently they have all the answers."

"Dad?"

"That's who Bobby's on the phone with," Sam sighed, uncurling himself and flexing his wings experimentally, glad to feel nothing more than a slight twinge. Maybe they could hit the road soon.

Dean glanced at the screen door, and then back to Sam. "I don't want to hear it from Dad, Sam. I want to hear it from you."

"Okay," Sam grimaced. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Consider me warned and quit beating around the bush."

"I have visions because Yellow-Eyes bled into my mouth when I was a baby, and now I have demon blood in me."

Dean opened his mouth, and a strangled sound left his throat as he slammed it shut again, loud enough to make Sam's own jaw hurt.

"I'm a walking contradiction, Dean. An angel child with demon blood." Sam shook his head and pressed it back into his knees. "And Dad knew. Not about the angel part, but about the demon part."

He felt a sudden thought prickling in Dean's mind and propped his head up so that he could better see his brother.

"So uh," Dean started, "Does this mean you're going to get more powers than me, because, dude, that's like totally unfair."

And if Sam couldn't help the hysterical laughter that welled up suddenly and wouldn't stop until tears poured down his face, Dean didn't say anything, because really, nothing about any of this was exactly fair.

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you think! Much love and happy summer days!**


	12. Livin' on Prayer

**A/N: Well, it wasn't too long of a wait this time. Phew. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter, it is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to give you guys something. There's only a couple of chapters after this (I think), so we're winding up towards the end. This chapter title is taken from Bon Jovi.**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Eleven: Livin' on Prayer**

"Did you decide where you boys are heading yet?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Here and there." He cleared his throat. "Sam found a few potential hunts."

Bobby harrumphed, fixing his ball cap and crossing his arms, entire body radiating his displeasure. "Don't you think you should hold off?"

"Sam's pretty much better."

"Physically," Bobby grunted. "And what about you?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, tossing the last duffel into the back before slamming the door a little harder than necessary. "SAM!!!"

A second later, the screen door opened, and Sam appeared, laptop bag in one hand and leather encased sword in the other. "I can't find my toothbrush."

"Well what did you do with it?" Dean's frustration was evident.

"I wiped my ass with it, what do you think I did with it Dean?!"

"Get in the car, Sam. I'll buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," he whined, pushing past Bobby towards the Impala. "Bye Bobby."

"Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Bobby."

"You boys take care."

"Will do," Dean climbed in, firmly shutting the door. Giving Bobby one last wave, he backed carefully out of the yard, chest loosening at the thought of the open road.

Glancing over, he couldn't keep the contented grin off his face. Sam was wingless, and right where he belonged, riding shotgun. The sun was out, the road was clear, and they didn't have anywhere pressing to be…Dean's phone beeped irritatingly.

Sam reached for the offending object, flipped it open, and sighed.

"Who is it?"

"It's Dad. He's got a job for us."

Dean's grin disappeared. "Where?"

Sam was already reaching for the map. "I won't know until I look it up, Dean. I'm not Rain-man."

"Coulda fooled me…"

Minus the scathing look directed at his brother, Sam decided it would be best to ignore Dean. "These coordinates are for the middle of nowhere."

"Then you're reading the map wrong."

"I'm not an idiot, Dean, I know how to read a map."

"Didn't say you were an idiot, just that you don't know how to read a map."

"I've been reading the map since I was seven, Dean!"

_Reading it wrong, most likely._

"I heard that, Jerk."

_Bitch._

"Dean!"

Dean signaled and pulled over to the side of the road, snatching the map and the phone from his younger brother's hands. "See, you're reading it…these are for the middle of nowhere."

"Ahh!" Sam threw his arms up in the arm and then jumped out of the car. "You're, you're…"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, waving his hand vaguely in Sam's direction while scrolling through his contacts to find his Dad. "Come on, pick up…"

"He's not going to pick up, Dean."

Dean listened as the phone rang repeatedly; he was just about to hang up when his father's breathless voice answered.

"Dean…"

"Dad…is something wrong?"

"Did you get the coordinates?"

Sam was ducking down to stare into the car, and his eyes were boring holes through Dean's head.

"Yeah, about those…"

"I'm gonna meet you there, Dean. Heard that it's a real funky town."

"A funky town, huh?"

"Look, kid, I've got to go." The call cut suddenly, and Dean turned to meet Sam's wide eyes.

"Funky town?"

"Yeah, looks like Dad's in…Sam?"

Sam's face had paled considerably, and his fingers had tightened their grip on the hood of the car. "Vision," he ground out, knees giving way as he fell forward, head leaning against the edge of the seat while the rest of his body hung out of the car.

"Sam!"

_SAM…_Dean threw his mind out, trying to connect to his brother, understand…

_And it was dark._

"_Sam!" That was their dad. "Sam!"_

"_Dad…" Sam's voice was dry, like he'd been sleeping for a long time and just woken up. "Dad…Dean?"_

"_Sam, where's Dean?"_

"_DEAN!" _

_And then there was a sword, and a face framed in fire…_

Dean leaned forward, pressing his head against the steering wheel, shaking fingers holding tight to the dash. Turning his head slowly to the right, Dean caught sight of Sam, pale and still, the only sign of possible life the blood that was slowly trickling from his nose down to the seat…

"Hey, no bleeding on the leather," Dean muttered, leaning over and shaking Sam's shoulder. "I'll have to make you walk…"

"Uhh…l'v me 'lon, De…I slpin…"

"Get up, you great big lug," Dean mumbled, pushing harder. Sam's body slithered out the door and landed on the ground with a muffled thump. "Shit…Sam…"

His own body protesting, Dean leaned over to peer at his brother, who was laying curled on the ground with his eyes screwed shut, apparently mumbling obscenities. Dean's head hurt, and he didn't really feel up to dealing with any of this right now. But if his head hurt, and he'd only been piggybacking Sam…then Sam must be in agony.

"Come on, Sam, gotta get you up."

"M'good here," Sam moaned, holding his arms protectively over his head. And that's when Dean noticed. No wings.

"Hey, look, Sam. No wings."

"Don't care…not movin'," he replied.

Dean said something unintelligible about "lazy little brothers," and then slipped from the car, grabbed both of Sam's arms, and pulled hard.

His hands slipped and the hunter tumbled backwards, landing in the Impala. "A little help would be nice, Sam."

"With what?" he asked, lifting his head slightly, eyes mere slits against the offending sunlight.

"Getting you back in the car," Dean was suddenly regretting leaving Bobby's.

"Ohhhh…" Sam drawled, as if he just realized that he was laying on the ground. "M'okay."

Resisting the urge to beat his head off the nearest blunt object, Dean instead took a deep breath, held it, and counted to ten slowly in Latin. "I need to get you in the car, kiddo, so that we can go save Dad."

Sam shot up like he'd just be struck by a bolt of lightning. "Dean…Dad, and the fire, and swords, and…"

"Woah, slow down, already way ahead of you…" Dean stood again, and this time when he bent down, Sam took his hand, making it much easier to get Sam's feet underneath him and plop him into the car.

Sam leaned back into the seat, closed his eyes, and griped tightly at the bar on the door. Dean jumped in the driver's side and reached back, fishing out Dad's jacket and tossing it haphazardly over his younger brother. "Get some sleep, Sam. Gonna need you 100% when we go after Dad."

He didn't say what either of them were thinking. Not that they had to voice anything anymore.

They both knew they were walking into a trap.

And it didn't look like any of them were going to make it out alive.

*~~*

John Winchester had never been much of a praying man.

Mary had always prayed enough for the both of them, and after all the horrors of war, he had found it hard to pray to a God that allowed all that pain and inhumanity to run rampant in the world. And after Mary died…

There was no reason to pray.

Dean had taken after him. Never once had he seen his son kneel down before the Lord, not after his mother was no longer there to kneel beside him.

Sam had broken his heart. His sweet son, who had taken after his sweet wife, would be reviled by heaven because of something that had happened to him when he was just a baby in the cradle. And yet Sam had prayed. Every night, Sam had knelt beside the bed he shared with his brother and prayed. Prayed for his brother. For his father. For his mother, for Bobby, for Caleb, Jim, and Joshua. For the people they were helping, for the bullies in his classroom. But never once had Sam prayed for himself.

When he got older, Sam had stopped praying out loud, but he hadn't stopped praying. Occasionally, John would catch his son keeling by the bed, holding one of the old motel bibles close, silent tears making their way down his face. And still John didn't pray.

He prayed now.

He prayed that his sons wouldn't come for him, that he had pushed them far enough away that they wouldn't try to save him.

He prayed harder than he ever had in his life. Not for himself, but for the only things that he had left in this world.

He had heard Father Jim once pray for understanding, and if not to have understanding, then to have peace.

John didn't want to understand, he didn't want peace. He wanted his sons safe. He wanted them to live. He wanted Sam to be able to settle down and have kids, and Dean to own his own mechanic shop. He wanted them to grow old and ornery. He wanted God to forgive them for something that they couldn't control, it was no fault of theirs that they were what they were.

That blame fell on him. Him and Mary.

So he glared at the being before him, and prayed.

And when praying wasn't just enough, he talked.

"They won't come."

"Of course they will come, John Winchester."

The body it inhabited was tall, and well built. Blue eyes, scraggly blonde hair, jeans, a t-shirt. Just a normal college kid. With a sword strapped to his back. And some sort of strange, otherworldly glow about him. Yeah.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it is in their nature to help others, as it is in ours. They will have no choice but to come."

John wanted to scream his frustration. Here he was, chained to some wall in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. He had no way to help his sons, no way to call for help. He could just sit here and witness. And pray.

"If they're so good, then why do you want to destroy them?"

The creature, Michael as he insisted on being called, just raised an eyebrow. "Because my Father wills it be so."

"But why them," John said desperately. _Please God, take me, take me instead, please God not them…_

"Not them," said a different voice, as a large African-American man stepped from the shadows. "Just one."

_Sam…_

"Uriel," Michael snapped. "There is no need to give false hope."

And John prayed.

*~~*

"Sam, are you sure that you're up to this?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

_Minus the fact that a good wind could knock you over._

"Maybe we should call Bobby. Or Jim. Or Caleb. Or…"

"Dean," Sam bit off. "I'm fine." He paused. "And it isn't windy out."

"Luckily for you."

Sam glared, and then dug deeper in the trunk, before finally settling on the sword. Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and Sam shrugged, securing it to his back in the sheath that had appeared not long after the sword. Dean reached for an additional shotgun, handgun already secured and knives carefully hidden.

Closing the trunk, Dean turned towards his brother, trying to keep concern from playing across his features. They both knew this was a trap. That they weren't likely to make it out alive. And Dean knew that there were things that you were supposed to say in these situations.

But they'd never said them before. Not that they'd been in a situation quite like this before.

Besides, Dean didn't know how to say them now.

"Sam."

Sam's lips quirked. "Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Enough said.

Sighing, Dean looked regretfully at the Impala, she'd gotten covered in muddy snow on the way up the dirt road, and since they couldn't make it any further, they were left to make it the rest of the way on foot. Which meant his baby would be left out here. Dad trumped car. Most days.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go fry some supernatural butt."

Sam just rolled his eyes and followed behind Dean, ignoring the steadily growing pain behind his eyes. If Dean knew, he probably would have called the whole thing off, because if Sam wasn't 100%, then the shit was likely to hit the fan with a greater velocity then it was already going to. Not that it really mattered, because the end result was the same. Crap everywhere. No fun to clean up.

"Sam are you listening to me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then what was I saying…"

"Umm…"

Sam was saved from having to answer as blinding, white hot pain ripped through his skull, the image of fire burning through his vision, and then there was nothing.

**A/N: Uh-oh. I think the boys are in trouble…Let me know what you think! Much love.**


	13. Never Surrender

**A/N: Well, guys, this has been a wild ride. Sadly, this is our stop. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me through it all. A very special thanks to SaintsGhost, cursedgirl, psicat76, cuddygirl18, and Star Mage1, who have been with me from the beginning. I appreciate it. Hopefully you've enjoyed this as much as I have. This chapter title was taken from Corey Hart.**

**P.S. If anyone wants to take the winged boys upon themselves, feel free. I'd love to see other stories with the boys as Nephilim! Just shoot me a PM if you do so I can stop by and review!  
**

**Stairway to Heaven**

**Chapter Twelve: Never Surrender**

John had been helpless, left to watch as his youngest was dragged down the stairs and dropped unceremoniously in a pile on the floor, before being securely attached to the wall next to him. Despite appearing so close, the tight bindings kept his son well out of John's reach. He glared angrily at the angel named Uriel, a desperate attempt to keep his fear from showing through, and it was easier than it should have been.

It was easy to be angry. He as angry at God, for condemning his son.

He was angry at the demon, who had destroyed their lives.

He was angry at the angels, here in the name of the Lord.

He was angry at Mary, for never telling him the truth, and making the deal that brought them to this place.

He was angry at Dean, for not protecting his brother.

He was angry at Sam, for not staying away.

But most of all, John was angry with himself, for not being strong enough to protect what was left of his broken family, and for not being there when both his sons had needed him so desperately.

If it would save his family, he'd change everything.

If it would save his family, he'd do everything all over again.

"I'll be back, John Winchester," said Uriel softly. "You should take this time to reconcile with your son before he leaves this earth."

John's eyes followed Uriel all the way back up the rickety steps, but he kept his silence until he was sure the angel was gone.

"Sam," he hissed, hoping that his voice would be enough to rouse the lifeless form. "Sam!"

There was no response, Sam still slumped against the cold ground, his tangle of long limbs thrown haphazardly, as if he was unconsciously trying to trip someone in his sleep. The air was cold down here, below the frozen ground, and even though John logically knew that they were screwed six ways to Hell, he still couldn't clamp down on the irrational fear that Sam was going to die from hypothermia if he didn't wake up.

"Sam!"

Still nothing.

John needed Sam to wake up. Needed to know if Dean had been with him. If Dean had escaped.

If there was still hope.

_Please wake up, please let him wake up. _"Sam!"

John tried to remember the last time Sam had willingly listened to anything he was saying without posing an argument, or a question, or a concern.

Now that he actually though about it, Sam had been listening when he left on a hunt…he'd come back to the motel two days after Christmas, and suddenly Sam didn't seem to want to listen anymore. He'd stumbled in, exhausted after a hunt that had gone to Hell in a hand basket, and then come back for more. Told Sam to get his duffel out of the trunk.

And Sam had looked at Dean for permission. Which was where he'd been looking ever since.

If Dean was here, Sam would wake up.

But Dean wasn't here.

"Sam?" John asked this time, tentatively.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response.

"I'm sorry I missed Christmas, kiddo."

But John had a feeling that missing Christmas had never been the issue.

Years later, Sam had screamed at him for pushing Dean too hard. For forcing Dean to make decisions, to do things, that he shouldn't have to do. What was it that Sam had said…_No kid should have to steal presents so their brother won't lose faith in their father on Christmas._ Dean had reached out then, grasped Sam's arm, and pulled him back to the bedroom that they were sharing at the time, returning seconds later to apologize to their father on his brother's behalf. Like it was somehow Dean's fault.

"I'm sorry Dean had to grow up too fast, Sam."

Still John couldn't reach his youngest son. That bridge had been burned long ago, and he was afraid that there just wasn't any time left to rebuild it.

*~~*

Angels had just made it to the top of Dean's "Things I Hate" list.

They were followed closely by broccoli, and Sammy's music.

He was a little fuzzy as to how he'd ended up tied to a chair in an abandoned cabin, which was in the lovely snow covered land of the Middle of Freakin' Nowhere, as he'd so eloquently told Sam. Or had been trying to tell him, before Sam did a good impression of narcoleptic.

Sam had just kinda grimaced and gone down.

Dean had tried to get to his brother, but before he even made it two steps, he was met with a face full of snow. "What the heck," he spluttered, attempting to rise to his feet, only to feel himself go down again.

It was like invisible ropes were holding him in place, leaving him unable to struggle. "What the fu…"

"Ah, ah, watch your language please."

"Get a little closer so I can watch you die, you son-of-a…" His tongue suddenly glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

"My name is Uriel, Angel of the Lord, human. And you will respect me."

Dean took a deep breath the second that his tongue released itself. "Power trip much? Didn't that stuff get Lucifer kicked out of heaven?"

A pair of large boots suddenly appeared in Dean's vision, and then there was another voice, this one much softer than the first.

"Uriel."

A frustrated sigh sounded above Dean's head. "Michael."

"You are walking a thin line, brother. It is not our job to create suffering."

"I thought I was relieving suffering," Uriel muttered, but stepped away. And suddenly Dean was upright, legs moving jerkily up the path, Sam being dragged ahead of him. "What are you doing?"

The angel with the quieter voice, Michael, spoke. "We are doing what the Lord wills, Dean Winchester."

"He wants you to kill people?" Dean protested, glaring down at his feet as they betrayed him with their mechanical steps. "I thought God loved everyone."

"Just because you love your foot doesn't mean that you don't need to cut it off when it gets gangrene."

"Uriel," Michael snapped, patience clearly wearing thin.

"I was just trying to explain it in a way that the human could understand."

"He is only half human, Uriel. And it is not for us to understand what the Lord wills. He works in mysterious ways."

The conversation had quickly deteriorated from there, and it all ended with Dean being tied to a chair, Michael staring at him, while Uriel dragged Sam through a doorway, and by the rhythmic noise, down a flight of steps.

Michael seemed the more understanding of the two, and so Dean decided now was a good of time as any to plead his case.

"Do whatever you want you want to me, just leave Sammy and my Dad alone."

Michael smiled sadly. "It appears you have the curse of the Nephilim, Dean."

"Oh yeah, and what's that," Dean snapped, mind racing to find any way out of this situation. There had to be a weapon somewhere, anywhere…

"To care too much for others, and not enough for yourself." Michael leaned up against the dusty counter. "It doesn't happen to all of you. Some only gain the powers, many use them only for selfish reasons. But some gain the true nature of an angel. Often these ones destroy themselves before we can even get to them. Always putting yourself in harms way for another," Michael shrugged, "Despite the angelic side of you, you still are part human, and as such, mortal instruments can still harm you."

Dean couldn't find any weapons, minus the two swords that Michael had strapped to his back, since he had, apparently, taken Sam's. "Problem being, some of their souls appear to get trapped, and become demonic in nature. Luckily, a fair number of human hunters seem to be willing to take on the demons, because despite our efforts, they continue to grow in numbers."

It seemed rather irrational to Dean that their way of solving this problem was to kill two, if not three, hunters. But who was he to judge mysterious ways? These seemed friggin' mysterious enough for him. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask.

"So, uhh, what good is killing three hunters going to do you?"

"Three?" Michael looked confused for a second, and then his face cleared in understanding. "No, not three. Just one."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. _Please let it be me…_

"Unfortunately, Samuel cannot be redeemed."

Dean's vision whited out at the edges, tunneling suddenly before coming into sharp focus. "Not Sammy," he whispered hoarsely. "God, no."

Dean was the one that lied, cheated, and stole.

He idolized.

He was gluttonous.

Heck, he even once swore a blue streak up and down the Mississippi, just to prove it could be done. Not Sam. Never Sam.

For God's sake, it was Sam that prayed every night.

Not Dean. Never Dean.

"Please, God, no," the words came out choked, tears somehow escaping not from his eyes, but into his voice.

Uriel appeared then, before he could say anything else, before he could plead his brother's case.

"Let's get on with this, Michael."

"Patience, Uriel. Dean needs to understand why we are doing this, or he will never aid us."

"Aid you…Hell no! You're trying to kill my brother!"

"He is an abomination," Uriel spat, "And as such, he needs to be destroyed."

"Sam is anything but an abomination!" Dean's anger was nearly palpable. "He's a good person! He's five million times better than me! And he's definitely better than you, buddy!"

"Michael, do we have to listen to this?"

"Dean, your brother has been tainted. There is no cure for the demon blood. It is part of who he is now. And though it may seem that he is a good person now…in the future, that isn't a certainty."

"So you are going to kill him, based on the fact that sometime, in the future, he _might_ not be good?"

"Good grief, Michael," Uriel snapped. "Your brother is the heir to Hell's throne."

Well. That was a shocker.

Gently, Michael attempted to explain. "Your brother, if left unchecked, has the potential to call the demons to him and overthrow Lucifer. As you can understand, I am sure, that we can't let the Prince of Darkness rise into power."

Dean was clearly still stuck on the whole 'heir to Hell' thing.

"Michael," Uriel was all but tapping his foot with impatience.

"I know this is a shock for you, Dean. The truth is, but for the fact that you managed to summon the Sword…"

_Sword…_

"Though why you were letting your brother carry it, I'm not quite sure I know."

"Sword?" Dean croaked, mind racing to catch up with what Michael was saying.

"Yes," Michael gestured to his back, where both swords were strapped. "The Sword of Justice, it can only be summoned by angels and those Nephilim that have a truly pure soul. Because of this, you are automatically granted a reprieve, because no soul so pure could ever become demonic in nature."

"But…I…"

Sam's salvation was in the sword…

"Michael. We have other business to attend to. This must be done now."

*~~*

"Sam…" John licked his dry, cracked lips. "Please, kiddo…"

There was a soft moan.

"Sam…c'mon, buddy. Nap time's over."

"Daaadd…" He paused. "M'head hurts…"

"Sam, you need to get up. Now."

Sam carefully untangled limbs and slowly made his way onto his elbows, and from there his hands and knees. Head hanging down low, Sam finally managed to make it to a sitting position, leaning hard against the wall. "Dad…where's Dean?"

"I was just going to ask you that, Sam."

"I don't know…he was talking to me, and then…DEAN!!"

"Sam, I don't think…"

But when it came to his brother, Sam didn't really care what his dad thought. "DEAN!!!"

_DEAN!_

_Sam? You okay? _

_M'fine. Where are you?_

_Heading down to you, I suspect._

"Dad, Dean's coming down…"

The door creaked open, and Dean most certainly did come down. He just came down with company that Sam would have preferred not to see.

"You leave my boys alone!"

"Dad?"

"Dean, you okay, son?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Touching," Uriel muttered. "Michael, if we could speed this along please."

Dean didn't appear to be bound by anything, but his arms were stiff at his sides, and with Uriel's words, he dropped to his knees. "Look, you've got the wrong…"

"Silence," Uriel ordered, and Dean's mouth stopped moving, anger and frustration playing across his features.

_Dean? You okay?_

_Stupid angel has me hog-tied with his stupid powers. Sam?_

_Yeah, Dean?_

He couldn't say it. Couldn't tell Sam goodbye.

_We're gonna get out of this._

Even in the dark, Dean could make out Sam's wry grin.

_Sure, Dean._ _Dean? Yeah, Sam?_

_I love you too._

_Did you have to turn this into a moment?_

"What did you do to him?" John snapped, pulling uselessly against his bindings. "Let them go!"

"Both you and Dean will be free to go as soon as this is over," Michael said soothingly, drawing one of the swords from his back. It lit automatically in his hand, bathing the entire basement in an orange and red glow, shadows flickering and dancing away from the light.

"Sam…" John whispered. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please let him go…_

_Sam! _

_It's okay, Dean. As long as you're safe._

Michael took a step towards him, and in response, Sam's wings tore from his back, body arching in some sick parody of obedience. On hands and knees, Sam knelt before the arch angel, his head bowed as he prayed silently for his father and brother. He was at peace.

Dean, sensing Sam's acceptance, flew into a panic. _No…Sam…_

Sam's head lifted, his eyes piercing his brother. _You know what I am, Dean. This is for the best._

"The Lord is my Sheppard," Sam whispered quietly. "I shall not want."

Slowly, Michael lifted the sword above Sam's neck, positioned himself to bring it down, so that one blow would sever Sam's head from his shoulders.

"He make me lie down in green pastures…"

Tears ran from both of John's eyes, and for every one of his tears, another one was mirrored in Dean's eyes.

Sam could smell his feathers burning this close to the heat, but still he left them fanning out, not wrapped around his body in protection. Sam knew that in the moment when that demon had stood over his cradle, he had been damned. Here was his salvation.

_Bitch._

_Jerk._

"Samuel Winchester, today is the day of your judgment," Michael's deep voice intoned, sword raising ever higher, the otherworldly glow expanding to chase away even the deepest of shadows. "Your soul will be judged in the eyes of the Lord, his Book checked for your name…"

"He restorith my soul…"

"Go swiftly towards your judgment…"

The sword swung down, cutting through the still air in a slow, graceful ark, flames leaving a glowing path, burned forever in the eyes of those that were watching.

It seemed like forever, an eternity, to John, as he watched his son's death speeding ever closer, with Sam, just kneeling there, accepting of his fate.

And suddenly, a blinding light flooded the entire basement, like looking directly into a flare, and a sound that could have rivaled the bells of Notre Dame shook the foundations of the small cabin.

It took a minute for John's vision to clear, but when it did, hiss breath was stolen away.

If he'd been standing, he'd have fallen to his knees.

As it was, he was already there.

John had never seen a more awe inspiring sight, and knew that he probably never would again.

Michael was bearing down hard, muscles cording in his arms, throwing all his weight behind the movement, trying to force his sword to finish its trajectory.

Below him, Dean was bent backwards, ink black wings spread wide as he stood protectively over his brother, his own flaming sword locked with Michael's, the picture of an avenging angel. Sam was still on his hands and knees, but now he was looking up at Dean, wonder playing across his face, staring at the miracle known as his brother.

It was clear that Dean was straining to keep Michael from finishing the job. He was only half of an angel, his human weakness and lack of training meaning that the likelihood of him defeating a millenniums old angel was slim to none. But he would die trying.

John shook off his stupor as his brain registered a flash of movement, but his strangled, "Dean!" was seconds too late.

Uriel had come from nowhere, his own sword raised as he flew through the air, a war cry torn from his lips.

The flaming metal came down, slicing easily through feathers, sinew, and bone.

For a second there was a pause, and then an earth shattering scream.

Dean's body crumbled, curling in on itself. The sword clattered lifelessly to the ground, flames sputtering and then dying out, leaving only dull metal behind. One wing dangled precariously, held on only by a small ligament that had somehow made it unscathed. The fire had already cauterized the wound, the smell of burning flesh and feathers sickening. John's stomach heaved. He was going to lose both his sons.

"NOOOOO!!!!!"

Uriel paused, sword raised for the killing blow, and Michael froze, his own sword hanging limply at his side.

"DEAN!"

Sam's chains snapped, and no longer bound, Sam dove for his brother, covering Dean's prone body with his own.

"No, Dean…please…Dean, please…"

Sam's hands reached for his brother, roving all over, touching, trying desperately to get a response, any response.

"Dean…please. Not you too…please…" He sobbed harshly, pressing his head down to Dean's shoulder blades, burying his face into the tee that smelt purely of Dean.

Tears fell in torrents, Sam's broken voice the only sound in the still basement. "Please, God. Take me. Please…not Dean. I just lost Jess…I can't lose Dean too. Please, take me, take me…oh, God…Dean…you Jerk. Get up, get up…"

Sam had never prayed for anything for himself. But he prayed now.

"Dean…don't leave me…you can't leave me…I just got you back…Dean, I just got you back…"

The soft sobs were interrupted by hiccups now, and small gasps for breath.

Sam's hands fisted in his brother's shirt. He didn't care that two angels were standing above him, holding his death sentence in their hands. He wouldn't have cared if he was surrounded by a legion of demons. All that mattered was that he was going to be alone. That Dean was dying, and that it was his fault.

"M'sorry, m'so sorry…Please…"

Fingers reached out, stroking the damaged wing, threading through the feathers.

"Please…" Sam's broken voice was barely a whisper now. His eyes shuttered shut, tears drying as he clung desperately to his brother. "Please…"

It was John's gasp that broke the silence.

Sam's eyes were closed, his breathing deep, as if he was falling asleep. Fingers still stroked over his brother's severed wing, and where they touched, a miracle was occurring. Slowly, bones knitted together, and ligaments reattached themselves, muscle growing back over, and finally, feathers rippled, reaching out to cover where the wound once was.

Uriel stepped forward again, sword once again raised, but Michael flung his arm out, stopping the other angel mid-stride. "He has the gift of healing," Michael's voice was full of wonder.

Sam saw none of this, intent only on holding onto his brother as long as he could, trying to keep his heart and mind from being torn asunder. It was a groan that caused him to scramble backwards, kneeling in front of his slowly stirring brother. "Dean?" he called anxiously, hand darting out to his brother's shoulder.

"Dude…" he moaned, turning slowly so he was laying on his back. "Did you get the number on that bus?"

"Dean!" Sam cried, pulling his brother into a rib breaking hug, moving fast enough to make the world swim around the older man.

"Woah…slow down there…"

"Sorry…" Sam pulled back, grinning from ear-to-ear. Suddenly, he remembered the angels, and whirling to his feet, Sam jumped in front of Dean, making it clear that both of the angels would have to come through him to get to his brother.

"Don't touch him," Sam warned.

Uriel once again attempted to step forward, but Michael's arm across his chest stayed firm.

Slowly, Michael bent at the knees, placing his sword on the floor. Hand now free, he carefully unbuckled the leather strap around his chest, pulling the other sword towards him, before thrusting it out towards Sam. "I believe, Samuel, that this is yours."

Licking his lips, eyes darting from one angel to another, Sam swallowed hard, and then nodded.

"It can't be," snapped Uriel. "It isn't possible. This abomination couldn't summon the Sword."

"The Lord has judged him, Uriel. And his soul is pure."

"You know what the boy is capable of, Michael. We have to stop him now!"

Michael turned to face the other arch angel. "It is not for us to decide, my brother. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

"Michael…"

"I told you before, Uriel, you walk a thin line, and right now, you are about to cross that line."

Uriel's eyes smoldered, but the flames flickered out on his sword, and he stepped backwards.

Michael laid Sam's sword on the ground at his feet, before taking up his own, strapping it securely to his back. "Please forgive us," he said gently. His eyes turned suddenly from Sam to John. "Your prayers have been answered, John Winchester."

And with that, John's bindings fell away and then angels were gone.

*~~*

By the time they'd made it to the Impala, both boys had been half asleep and tripping over each other, neither quite willing to let go of the other. Somehow, John loaded them both into the backseat, covering them up with a spare blanket from the trunk, reminded briefly of when his boys were both small enough for him to carry.

He wished that he could carry them now.

But even if he could, neither of the boys would have wanted him to.

Sometimes John forgot, that just because they didn't say they needed him, didn't think they needed him, didn't mean they didn't want him to help them. But it had been too long.

So John drove them to the nearest motel. Paid for the room for a week.

He got both boys settled in, stocking up on enough groceries so they wouldn't have to venture out for awhile.

And when both boys had fallen into a truly deep sleep, John had pressed kisses to their heads, and slipped out the motel door.

A quick walk to the bus station, and John was on his way to where he'd last left the truck.

As much as he wanted to stay, he knew he couldn't.

There was only one thing that mattered. That his sons were safe.

For now.

John intended to keep it that way.

He had a demon to hunt.

**A/N: I hate to say goodbye, so I won't. I'm planning on a sequel, when things settle down and I have time--which may not be anytime soon. But I at least have some idea of what I'm planning. And a title. If you want to be on the lookout for it, I'm gonna call it Highway to Hell. And you guys are always welcome to play in this 'verse. Just let me know, so I can pop by and say hi! Much love, and if I don't hear from any of you soon, have a very happy summer. :)**


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